Rhyme & Reason
by Skip
Summary: A psychological story about Vejiita with interesting explanations for his explosive attitude, twisted sense of logic, and his over-all personality. [Updated - part 14!]
1. PROLOGUE

**

Rhyme & Reason  
[PROLOGUE] 

  
  
  
**

Groaning and rubbing his throbbing head, a boy no more the age of thirteen slowly picked himself up from the blackened ground. He sat upright for a moment, not moving a muscle, concentrating on just trying to bring his surroundings into focus through the ringing in his head. Finally he stood, pleased that his weak knees did not give out from under him. He sighed, dusting off his hand on his side. He felt inexplicably.... tired.   
  
His ears pricked at a sudden sound-- someone was yelling. "Vejiita, dammit! What the hell...?"   
  
Vejiita studied the speaker. He was a companion.... no -- a fellow purger on this particular mission, one whom Vejiita had never met before and whose name he hadn't caught.   
  
The other was looking around in dismay, with what must have been disbelief rounding his wide eyes. Vejiita followed his gaze dully. All around him, as far as he could see for miles was.... nothing. Just burnt, smoking flats. His gaze slid to his hand: dirty, specked with blood... glowing with the aftermath of large amounts of ki be exerted through it, the flesh not yet cooled from the heat it produced. Rarely did his skin flush like this; he kept his ki in check, and now that he was older, his skin had gotten used to being heated like this. How strange. Had he done this?   
  
Just as strange was the ache in his arms, his legs, his back. The obvious explanation was that he had been fighting on this mission. But fighting wasn't very necessary for this trip; the occupants of this planet were of average strength at best. He knew that. He hadn't fought that much -- or at least he hadn't used ki with the exception of simply destroying things. Not opposing people. This planet was to be kept in good shape. He knew that too. As a matter of fact, they had ben given clear orders not to use an abundance of ki. Vejiita wasn't planning to do this. In fact, he didn't even remember doing this sort of damage. The last thing he remembered was having a verbal fight with a native of this desolate place, being accused of the obvious murder and destruction he was executing and being ordered to stop at once. Vejiita, who wasn't feeling so great in the first place, and therefore was short tempered, was beginning to loose his patience at him.   
  
Then everything.... well, he didn't know. He didn't remember what he said back to the native, what he did. He just didn't remember, period.   
  
He tilted his chin up, trying to get a better view at the wreckage. No use in seeing anything differing from the blemished landscape engulfing him. He slowly became aware that the nameless man had gotten over his shock and was now demanding an explanation for this horrible thing that Vejiita had done. Vejiita didn't have an answer for him. He looked over his shoulder, and spotted Radditsu, who was also assigned to this planet. He was staring at Vejiita and had a look of pure terror on his face.   
  


******

"Hey, hey! I heard you went bezerk out there, man." He pounded on his back. Vejiita didn't reply. He didn't want to talk about it. Not to anyone. Especially this guy. He dared a quick glance in his direction. Yes; his roommate Craig look exactly how he expected him to look: eyes wide and sharp and alert, staring intently at the side of Vejiita's face, ready to pick up any phrase or remark and store it for later use when he wanted to say something of importance to one of his many "fans". He was a horrible gossip. Even if he did want to talk about it (whatever "it" implied) he wouldn't be able to tell him, anyway. He couldn't.... He didn't know.   
  
He felt himself visibly wince. It rather hurt to think that; that it was possible for him to totally blank out something as big and involved as what he had done on his mission. It was very easily possible for someone to pass out after such stressful activity, but the unconscious would be a direct result happening after the activity. Not while it was happening. Never. It was unheard of.   
  
He sensed that Craig was about to say something. Vejiita doubted that he was about to express his concern; Craig rarely noticed things like other people's discomfort, and if he ever did, he didn't often say anything. But Vejiita didn't find out. From down the hall there was a scream, followed by peals of laughter and loud hoots. Craig grinned, his head swinging around. He looked back at Vejiita, slapped his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, later, okay?" He hesitated, as he always did, the end of his confident farewell rising up in a question, almost as if waiting for a proper dismissal, or even acknowledgment of his departure. It was neither; it was an invitation. The lingering hand was silently coaxing, "Hey, come on, this time, please let's go!"   
  
Craigie was always so exuberant, so peppy. He could never sit still. He was a nice change from the cold shoulders and threatening glares a person of Vejiita's age and stature usually received. Open, friendly, lively, laid-back, all at once. But Vejiita had to reject his offer, no matter how successful a stimulant Craig was. He had too much on his mind to go rollicking with Craig's friends. He frowned and adjusted a bandage wrapped around his elbow. Again, he dared a side-long glance.   
  
Vejiita felt ill. His injuries, fortunately, were slight compared all the energy he lost with his explosion, but that had nothing to do with feeling unwell. It wasn't his body or anything bothering him. His throat was sore, and his head, although it was no longer ringing, and wasn't really throbbing anymore, something felt off. Or missing, maybe. It was almost as if some unwelcome entity had gone into his head and, with precalculated movements, adjusted everything there just enough to be more than irritating, but not enough to locate the true problem.   
  
It wasn't just that he felt strange. It was that didn't remember.   
  


^^^^^^^^^^^

It had happened before, he dimly acknowledged, his bearings coming back. Being told he had done something he did not remember doing. Usually he'd let it slide off his shoulders, telling himself that _they_ were wrong; he _hadn't_ done those terrible things of which they spoke. He was beginning to dimly acknowledge that they were not crazy. They were right. He had completely destroyed a huge chunk of valuable land on his mission.   
  
There were other instances, as well. One day, just a few weeks before this last mission he was surrounded by strangers, all yelling and shouting and whacking his shoulders. He had been feeling useless and tired for a long period of time, and wasn't quite sure how to react to this sudden attention. He wasn't even sure what the commotion was about. They were congratulating him about killing someone, he recalled. You killed Tanako, they told him. That bastard was killed by Vejiita!   
  
He didn't know what to think. Craig confirmed their proclamations. Vejiita had murdered Tanako, an older soldier of Freeza's army who occasionally came down to the old dormitories where other's Vejiita's age lived. He was no good, but no one did anything about it. Until Vejiita did. Weeks after incident, Vejiita eavesdropped on snatches of conversation where either his or Tanako's names were mentioned. He pieced together what happened. Tanako had dropped by, unannounced and unexpected as usual, talking shit and kicking people. The kids usually just took it, holding their breathe until he left. But Vejiita got pissed. It happened in under twenty seconds, he was told. He didn't remember a thing of the alleged fight.   
  
Other times, a higher-ranking official of the army would suddenly round in on him, demanding in loud angry voices why he hadn't turned up for a mission or failed to appear at some random assembly. Long ago Vejiita had stopped replying to these accusations with: "What mission? What are you talking about?" Thinking that the young Saiyajin was playing around, they would get upset and he usually ended up getting hit. So he just tried to think up a good excuse in the five seconds he was given to speak.   
  
He rubbed his eyes and turned on his side, looking around the dark room miserably. Such a mess, he noted vaguely. He thought he should shovel out the junk some day, then decided that the messy room was not even worth the thought. He tried to sleep. But with his eyes shut the noise from down the hall seemed even louder. That was Craig's crowd. Loud, fast, and young, two dozen or so teenagers, all on one floor. A stupid system. As far as Vejiita knew, he was the only one who was regularly assigned to missions. Certainly his roommate didn't. Why, he had no clue. If someone had grabbed him by the throat and taught him to fight and to kill, he'd be forced to go on these planet purging missions with Vejiita.   
  
His thoughts lingered on the planet purging subject. He had been doing this for about six years now. Unnervingly, he had executed his mission without the knowledge of his departure and later, no knowledge of ever leaving. He had never brought it up. What would he have said? "This may sound strange, but could you tell me where I am? Can you tell me what we're doing?" Absolutely not. Adding to the fact the people just simply didn't loose their minds, Vejiita was aware that he had probably been purging planets in such a fashion for a while. He was on a sub-elite team, he noticed, looking at the others. He would not have been placed on such a mature team the first time out. He had finished his job without thinking.   
  
He felt a darkness slipping over him, so much more intense than the darkness of the room. Then he knew nothing.   
  



	2. EXTROVERSION

**

Rhyme & Reason 1:  
[ E X T R O V E R S I O N ]

  
**  


_It was so easy to locate his roommate, who was ever the life of the party. The room six doors left of his own was the source of the cacophony named Craigie. The room was also the source of the pulsing bright flashes of light in stark contrast to the suffocating obscurity of the corridor. Standing in the doorjamb, he could hear shouts, laughs, and singing. He wondered to himself, What am I doing here, in this cold and lonely room, when I could be out there laughing and singing and yelling with everyone else? He shook his head at himself. He could be so silly sometimes! Craig had invited him earlier; surely the invitation was still there.   
  
Well, whether or not he was still welcome, he was still going._   
  
  
  
"Look over there. Is that who I think it is?" Stan Fotoshi indicated to the door. Craig looked also.   
  
He grinned. "Hey, cool. The bastard came." He stood up. He honestly hadn't expected him to come. He had looked perturbed and unwell earlier, as if he was about to pass out.   
  
A girl sitting with them said, "Who is that?" Craig winked and grinned.   
  
"You wanna know, Leki? That's my pal Vejiita, I've told you about him before. Hey Vejiita!" he yelled.   
  
"Oh, he's back?"   
  
Craig waved his arm in the air. "Hey, you, get over here!" Vejiita glanced at him and shuffled over to their table.   
  
"Hello," he said, waving awkwardly. Craigie laughed. He kicked a chair to him, which Vejiita gripped by the headrest.   
  
"Siddown." He sat stiffly.   
  
Vejiita glanced at the girl sitting across from him. She had very Saiyajin-like features, but that only meant that she just didn't look like some of the other aliens, with strange-colored skin and odd shaped skulls. She was just normal. She had been paying attention to him when he was first beckoned by Craig, but was now turned around in her chair talking to someone behind her. "Hey," he said sharply. She looked at him. "Yeah, you. Turn around! Be quiet." He scooched his chair forward and stood up so he was leaning over the table, his face closer to hers. "I haven't seen you before, who are ya?"  
  
Leki studied this new person. Craig had told her about him before, but not that much. She was only told that he tended to be moody and quiet, but did have a sense of humor, and was great to be around if you caught him at the right time. Right now he was anything but moody or quiet; instead, he was reminding her more of Craig. Constant motion was the phrase that best described him. This person whom Craig called Vejiita was drumming his fingers on the table top, occasionally banging his fists as well, and he was rocking back and forth on his feet as well. He also had a bright look in his eyes, face open and friendly. Moody my foot, she thought. Craigie was horrible at describing people, she concluded.   
  
She smiled at him. "My name's Leki."   
  
"That's great." He nodded. His attention was partially on Stan Fotoshi. He was bringing a can of something to his lips. Vejiita snatched it out of his hand before the he could react. Stan Fotoshi didn't even bother to chew him out. He was about ten years older than him, and had long ago decided that getting upset over a kid stealing his drink was nothing but a waste of time. Fotoshi had been at every single one of these parties that he could since he came to work here, and Vejiita had been to a fair number himself. He usually stole his drink every damn time, but lately he hads stopped. Fotoshi supposed he saw it as some sort of inside joke, a tradition, to steal his drink. Certainly the boy didn't see as stealing and drinking the older man's beverage right in front of him as an award, that he should be idolized for getting away with it. He had just hoped that he was going to stop with this childishness for good. Fotoshi just thought, _Kids_, and got up to get a different drink.   
  
Craig, whose attention had solely on Vejiita and Leki, stared at Stan when he got up. He leapt out of his seat and hollered, "Stan! Where are you going? Hey... Stan the man..." He followed him.   
  
Vejiita smiled, first to himself then to Leki. "I've never seen you before," he repeated.   
  
"Oh, yeah," she said off-handedly. "I've only been here for about four months, and you've been gone all this month." She paused. " I've only come off the floor where my room is lately; I suppose I'm shy about meeting new people."   
  
Vejiita smiled. You won't be for long, he thought to himself, thinking of Craig. That boy was anything but shy. He voiced his thoughts. "How close are you with Craigie?"   
  
Leki perked up at the name. "Very. Mona brought me down here first, and he was the first I really sat down and had a conversation with." She grinned.   
  
"He's a great guy, huh?"   
  
"He's crazy."   
  
  
  
Even though he hated to leave, he had to admit that the ever-flashing lights and loud bass music were beginning to get on his nerves. Fortunately, Vejiita seemed to feel the same way, so when he got up and headed to the exit, Craig was at his side. They weren't the only two leaving the room; others were also leaving, couples, people in larger groups, and loners were beginning to spill into the hall and mingle casually. They walked down the dark corridor for a short distance, in the opposite direction of their room, away from the crowd. Craig glanced behind him, half regretting leaving the party. If he hadn't been developing a headache, it would had been one of the best raves he'd been to in a while. He thought maybe it was because Vejiita had come this time. Craig glanced at him. Vejiita had a vacant look in his eyes - he figured he was lost in thought - and was whistling softly through his teeth. Craig drummed his fingers on his thigh as the stopped and leaned against the wall simultaneously, as if an unspoken signal went off and they both resolved that this was the best place to rest.   
  
Craigie dug in his pocket and emerged with a joint. He held it out to Vejiita, who, with a snap of his fingers, lit the end of it with a bit of ki. He took a drag then offered it to his companion, who accepted it with just a moment's thought. Then he gave it back.   
  
"You're different tonight," Craig remarked after a few minutes of sitting in silence. Vejiita looked at him. He seemed amused.   
  
"How so?"   
  
He shrugged. He was hesitant to bring this up; he didn't want Vejiita to think he was stupid or crazy or anything if he had observed incorrectly. "I dunno... Your voice sounds less deep and less coarse. And, you came to a fucking party without me carrying you here!" Vejiita smiled half a smile. "And... Just stuff," he finished lamely.   
  
"Yeah, well," Vejiita said.   
  
Again they sat in companionable silence. Craig kept the cigarette to himself, not offering it to Vejiita and Vejiita not asking for it. He was watching the people down the hall. They were spreading far enough from the music and lights that he could join them and not be uncomfortable. But it wasn't every night Vejiita got out from under his black cloud; Craigie intended to make the most of it.   
  
It is too quiet, he decided. He started talking. He was pleased that Vejiita actually talked back - actually having a conversation with him. A _good_ conversation, more specifically, a light-hearted meaningless one. They still talked even when the crowd was treading on their feet, having spread thus far from the original party location. Craig caught a familiar face in the crowd. He stood up, Vejiita doing the same a moment later.   
  
He was a child, more of a child than most of the kids occupying these rooms. Craig, however, didn't treat him like a little brother, just as a close friend. But the kid probably saw Craig as an older brother.   
  
Craig greeted, "Hey, Devin." The kid looked up at him, green eyes flashing in the dim light. Craig smacked Vejiita's back. "This is Vejiita, be nice to him." Devin nodded. Craig knew Vejiita knew who Devin was already, and where he had come from. He thought he remembered Devin having his own older brother, but he wasn't sure. According to Vejiita, who knew a surprisingly lot about Devin and his brother, some of Freeza's men had picked the two of them up for an undetermined reason and were letting them stay here. But not totally for free, Vejiita would learn later. They did janitorial work, Craig told him, in exchange for free boarding and food, instead of actually doing what Freeza's soldiers were best known for. Craig guessed that Vejiita doubted he did _that_ much.   
  
Someone suddenly came up and scooped the small figure of Devin his shoulder. The small boy released a cry of surprise, looking around wildly and grinning. Craig knew he had never seen this guy before. He was tall, big. He had no hair on his head, but had long ears that were pointed at the end. He had dark skin; it looked black but when he moved into brighter light, it was actually a dark, dark green.   
  
Craig stepped forward. "Hey, you put my friend down!" There, however, was no real hostility in his voice.   
  
The man grinned, barring fanged teeth. "Make me."   
  
In one smooth movement, Vejiita was in front of the man him in the stomach. The man moved Devin to the other shoulder then let him slide down his front safely to the floor. Devin looked a bit bewildered but was smiling brightly. He leaned against Craig who wrapped his arms around his shoulders.   
  
"Who are you?" Vejiita asked loudly.   
  
"Yeah, what's your name?" said Craig.   
  
He raised his eyebrows and shook his head, "I ain't even gonna tell ya."   
  
"Fine!" Craig yelled, feigning hurt feelings, "_Don't_ tell us! Be that way."   
  
Vejiita looked at Craig. "But we must call him something." Craig shrugged, faux tears gone from his expression.   
  
"If you want."   
  
Vejiita studied him. "Lars. I dub thee Lars!" he announced proudly. Devin smiled.   
  
"Lars" gave him that look again, and chuckled.   
  
"Wanna know our names, Lars?" said Craig.   
  
"Whatever. No. Actually, I don't want to know your names."   
  
Vejiita hit him again, this time lightly on the arm. "Well, _you're_ not very friendly, mister! You're not getting many friends that way."   
  
Lars shoved him against the wall. "Whatever, dog." Vejiita looked at Craig and grinned. "Actually," he continued, "I was just sent down here to babysit you brats. I guess they don't a repeat of the Tanako incident." Vejiita's face hardened. Craigie assumed that he didn't like to be reminded of it, no matter how popular it got him.   
  
Lars never did bother to learn their names. For the longest time, they were just known to him as "you in the corner" or "you on the right". He was a _very_ strange fellow, but Craigie did like him a lot. Both he and Vejiita came to know him as their "father" of some sort. They have him a hard time about that; they didn't think he liked being seen that way. He never disclosed his real name or where he had come from or his race _ever_. Never made a slip up, even when Craigie and Vejiita did their damnest to trick him. But it didn't matter. He was big, he was protective, and he took care of them, though grudgenedly. That was fatherly enough for them, neither of them ever remembering having a proper father.   
  
Another night, another party, Lars had ended up in the company of the two young Saiyajin again. Craig had fallen asleep (he did that sometimes) and Lars had a chance to really study Craig's constant companion. He, like Craig, noticed something strange about him, too. He had drastic mood swings, and he would react drastically to some things one night and then the next shrug it off as if it was perfectly normal, depending on what mood he was in. Today, he noted, he was in was was unofficially dubbed, in a "good" mood.   
  
The kid spoke first. "I heard that Craigie finally taught you his damn name," he said. "Ever consider learning mine?"   
  
Lars thought a moment. "No. I'll just call you Chester."   
  
He was shocked. "What?"   
  
He gave him an annoyed look, "You heard me. I'm calling you Chester, and I don't want to hear another word against it."   
  
"Dolt," he said. He made an effort of looking pissed off on the outside, acting as if Lars was too dense to even learn one person's name. But inside was swelling with personal pleasure. Such a stroke of luck!   
  
This name - Chester - would distinguish him from everything he was not.   
  
  
  
Chester Hardy hated doing these damn missions. He thought bitterly of Craigie and the rest back at headquarters. Probably getting drunk and getting high and having a grand old time without him. He often wondered if they even missed him when he was absent. He was always greeted warmly when he returned - it was their nature to be friendly. He scowled and tapped his finger against the cold glass of his space pod. At least he wasn't claustrophobic. But space still depressed him. It was so big, so dark. And the only people within millions of miles of him were a bunch of strangers. Even Radditsu, who looked down on Chester and his "childish" friends, would have been better.   
  
And then there was the whole _killing_ part. It was disgusting, the way that Freeza person made a living. Chester wrinkled his nose. He knew that he had little or no influence on Freeza's actions. If he should ever blatantly refuse to commit terrestrial homicide, he would just be killed himself and replaced with another more enthusiastic soldier. He sighed and rapped harder on the glass. And it was so cold. He despised the cold.   
  
Chester felt a familiar presence tugging at his mind, and darkness beginning to wash out his senses. He melted into it without a struggle. It was best if he let someone else do this filthy work, and not let it taint his soul. Yes, it was better this way.   



	3. DEVOTION

**Rhyme Reason 2:  
[ D E V O T I O N ]**

  
  
  
_warning: language, and "not nice-ness". watchout._

  
  
It was good to be back   
  
Montgomery Robert Vejiita arched his back and rotated his shoulders. He permitted a small smile.   
  
Yes, it was definitely good to back. It'd been a while since he had been allowed full motivity of the body. Vejiita had been feeling stable enough lately to execute these frequent planet purging missions. He supposed he owed part of his reemerging to the one called Chester. Then he shook his head. No, that bum deserved nothing but a kick in the butt.   
  
He gazed out at the fiery landscape, a rare, almost peaceful expression lighting his eyes. He had an excellent view from his vantage point of this high ledge. He'd worked hard today. He worked hard, and fast, enjoying what he did and not regretting a moment of his dreadful activities. And why should he? He gave instant death, little or no suffering. These people didn't ever have time to sit and cry about the dead ones or the inevitable destruction of their planet; they were history before the nerve-endings could connect.   
  
Mont snorted, shooting a random ki beam and lighting a pile of debris on fire. Staring into the flicking blaze, he decided that, if anything, these stupid people should have been _thankful_ for him coming and ending their futile lives so quickly and without regrets. Who'd want to die slowly in a bed, helpless and despairing? He was born in chaos, lived for - and in - chaos, and, if it should ever come to it, he'd like to die in chaos. He'd go down swinging.   
  
"Hey, monkey!" someone catcalled from behind him, snapping Mont abruptly from his musings. He looked behind him askance. "Are you just going to sit on your ass all day or are you going to work?" he screamed. Mont didn't even blink. "Get up, Vejiita. Don't stop working just because you finished off one little city." The soldier spat in his direction before storming off.   
  
Mont was pissed. Who did this person think he was? He was not Vejiita! He looked a bit like him, but was not. He would have been flattered had it not been for the scorn in the speaker's voice.   
  
He stood up. He summoned his ki from the deep recesses of his mind and body, and flung the plausible ball of his very being at the fool. The departing soldier just barely swerved out of the way in time. Montgomery scarcely knew what he was doing - only that he was angry.   
  
"Fucker..." he seethed, his voice coming out low and husky. The soldier froze in midair, staring at the fuming Saiyajin boy in panic. "Go to hell...," he made out, enunciating each syllable on a separate breath. His breath hitched and he made eye contact with the soldier. He found himself unable to look away. A strange light gleamed maliciously in his eyes, and a twisted smirk distorted his features. He made a quick movement and blasted up to his victim. He blew his head away without a second thought.   
  
Mont landed near the headless corpse and thought about what he had just done. He hadn't planned it; it was almost reflexive. He had seen the fear in the other's eyes, the fear that immobilized him to the point that he couldn't even down-talk the Saiyajin again. He reacted to fear. He strived on fear. The afraid needed to be culled, and destroyed. Again, Montgomery had done the universe a merciful favor.   
  
And the other guy deserved it, after all.   
  
He kicked the body till it fell over the ledge he'd been resting on. He'd tell the rest of the soldiers who had accompanied him on this mission that he had been killed in battle. He didn't need any grief from his superiors.   
  
Not that he was afraid of his superiors or anything. He was never afraid. It just wasn't part of him. His scouter beeped loudly in his ear; it was an order from another soldier on the planet to move on to another area. Mont didn't bother replying to it; just complied and took off. He ignored the insistent gnawing in his mind, triggered by thinking of fear. His refusal of wanting to acknowledge what was eating at him made him pissed; his gathered his ki and rocketed through the air in a desperate attempt to escape that part of his life that he denied belonged to him....   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
He was going to be late. It was like a mortal sin in his family, to be late, and the intensity of that sin was only compounded when he was late for an appearance in front of family. His heart was pounding in his chest, his pulse deafening him. His throat was sore, but he swore he wouldn't cry. He swerved between legs and around bodies of people standing in the walls, making the journey to his destination all the more difficult. If only he wasn't so late.   
  
The three-year-old finally came to the door, and with a clenched fist pounded on it until it opened. Then he went in, trying to act as composed as possible.   
  
He stood near his brother. He didn't look up at him, just kept his attention on his father, who was pacing anxiously. This made Vejiita uneasy. He couldn't be sure if he was on time and his father just hadn't said what he called them to say yet, or if he _was_ late, and his father was silently seething.   
  
In either case, he wasn't saying anything. He wished he would, say what he called them to say and do what he felt like doing. The sooner he did, the sooner he could leave.   
  
His father spoke. Before he had even finished his first word, Vejiita knew it he was just keeping them up to date on what was going on recently: Freeza's demands growing too great; local rebellions becoming more than just a nuisance; the boys' training habits. Vejiita did not like this last subject. He knew he wasn't concerned with his _brother's_ training habits. His father obviously favored his older brother over him, so Vejiita could do nothing right. And you just don't make mistakes in front of the King.   
  
But it appeared that the King was too tired or too distracted to dive into the depths of that particular subject, and a relieved Vejiita soon stopped paying attention. After what seemed like a long time later, they were dismissed. Vejiita sprinted towards the door and was gone. His brother caught up with him.   
  
Even though Vejiita knew his brother was favored over him, he felt no hostility whatsoever for the older boy. Rafe was the only one in his family who was nice to him, and treated him like a real person. It was Rafe who took care of him and let him sleep in his bed when he was a baby. It was Rafe who consoled him after being berated by their parents. Rafe was the one who told him that even though the life seemed to be futile, there would always be the good spots that made you want to dance. Rafe saved his baby brother's childhood from being over far too soon.   
  
Vejiita had left his father's room in high spirits; he hadn't been hit once! When Rafe came up behind him and patted his shoulder, he did not respond to Vejiita's idolizing smile as he usually did. He smiled as he always did, but the smile lacked spirit, and his eyes seemed distant, brooding.   
  
"Otôto," he said softly, "best go back to your room." *   
  
Vejiita was surprised. He was planning on going with Rafe to his room, or follow Rafe to wherever he was going. He didn't want to go to his room. He had nothing to do, and when he was idle, was told to get off his lazy ass and go train.   
  
"No," he said, just as quietly. He didn't like to contradict his brother.   
  
"Yes. Go." They had come to an intersection in the hall, and Rafe shoved the three-year-old towards the direction of his room. Then he twisted around and strode a different way.   
  
Vejiita watched his brother run off until he was out of sight. He was going to their parent's quarters, he realized. Their father might be there, resting after a day's work. His mother might even be there, at this hour. Why was Rafe going to see them? Why wouldn't he bring Vejiita? Maybe their father said something while Vejiita wasn't paying attention to which Rafe objected.   
  
Any child of three has a short attention span, curiosity to spare, and makes foolish, if rash, decisions. Vejiita ran after his brother.   
  
As he came nearer to his parent's room, he slowed. He didn't remember being in this room since he was an infant. It wasn't forbidden to go there, but there was never a reason to, so he always avoided it. No need to earn more attention than was necessary. He heard loud yelling, and jumped, becoming nervous. This was loud yelling, angry, stubborn yelling. Bad yelling. There was suddenly a bang as a door was thrown open, and Vejiita's father stormed out. He was so preoccupied that he didn't even see his youngest son, crouching and obscured in the shadows. He was the one who was yelling, Vejiita knew. And he was pissed because obviously yelling did not get his point across. Yelling at Rafe?   
  
Vejiita slowly peered around the door frame. Yes, there he was! Rafe! But he didn't dare make a sound; he crept into the room silently and stood a bit away from Rafe. His brother's features were drawn and controlled, his eyes distant and his arms shaking. One fist was clenched around a shiny metal object so hard his knuckles were turning white. Vejiita concentrated on the object. His eyes widened. A pistol! He recognized it; it was the pistol their uncle had given them before his last mission as a memento.   
  
Rafe, a boy of ten, could already manipulate ki expertly. At the time, Vejiita couldn't imagine why Rafe would use a pistol instead of his own resources. He saw the pistol as just decoration. He later learned that the pistol was symbolizing something, something even more than a dead uncle. But he never learned what, for Rafe suddenly raised the gun to his mouth. As he pulled the trigger and murmuring a few harsh words, he cast Vejiita one last look; a look full of sadness, a miserable look that begged for Vejiita's forgiveness and love even after he pulled off this terrible stunt.   
  
A loud bang echoed for what seemed like forever in the spacious room.   
  
Vejiita stared at his brother in horror. He had fallen over backwards, making a horrible crunching sound as the back of his blown-apart skull hit the concrete. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth to the puddle rapidly growing under his head. Vejiita couldn't look away.   
  
His mother, who had been standing dreamily on the other side of Rafe, suddenly took action. She stepped over her dead son's body to the living one, grabbing his arm tightly and dragging him out of the room. She tossed him out and smacked his head, hissing, "Get out of here, boy." Then she called someone to "clean up the mess".   
  
Vejiita did not leave. He could not. Didn't she understand that he had just watched his brother kill himself? Didn't she realize he was just a little kid? Did she know he had just lost the only person in the universe who _liked_ him?   
  
_My brother is dead. My brother is dead._ The words ran through his head day and night, for weeks after Rafe's suicide, but it took a while for them to click. When he did, he nearly cried for the first time since he was a baby. He tried to ask his father what had happened, why had Rafe done it, but he wouldn't even look at the boy anymore. He asked his mother. She replied, "What brother? You've never had a brother, you idiot."   
  
Vejiita understood. Rafe committed a terrible act, and was disowned, never to be mentioned again. He was more of a failure than Vejiita was, in their eyes. Now Vejiita had to deal with the entire Saiyajin empire without Rafe by his side. And that was a lot to deal with.   
  
Vejiita never did find out what had drove Rafe into committing suicide, not even as an adult, but he had theories. A time after the incident - about a year and half - Vejiita was sent to Freeza, without even a word of what was happening. Rafe had been ordered to go at first, he was certain. He would have had none of it. So would the King with his son's indolence. But if the King wanted Rafe to go, he would have been powerless to stop him. Rafe knew that well, so as soon as his father had left, he pulled out his sleek pistol. He made a stand, he challenged his father. Instead of actually attacking him physically, he blew his own brains out with a crude, metal contraption and no one with any amount of ki could have stopped him - including the King. Rafe was defiant. Others would call him cowardly: he'd rather die that stand up to his sire. Vejiita admired him. To be disowned was a horrible taint on one's memory. He was scared of his father up to the very end and still shuddered at the thought of him.   
  
And he had every right to. Vejiita was the third born, preceded by an older sister who up and left before he was born, and Rafe, who was seven years his senior. After Rafe died, he imagined his parents gave up all hope on raising a successful child and neglected him. Vejiita knew that - Nappa had mentioned it once, but then again, he was not sure whether to believe the older man. After all, he worked under his father, and had been sent to watch out after him during his stay with Freeza. That much had been enough to make Vejiita distrust him.   
  
Vejiita had barely been "sent" to Freeza. His opinion on the subject wasn't considered, his questions were ignored, and he had been abandoned before the tyrant, the last words from his father being, "Don't ask questions and don't be a bother." He didn't console his only son that he would return home shortly in the future. He didn't even bother to say farewell. Vejiita used to wonder that if the home world hadn't been destroyed, that he'd be demanded back. For a while he thought: of course they'd want me back. Later, due to Radditsu and Nappa's mannerisms towards him (not so much Radditsu, was kinder and more a comfort, being closer to Vejiita's age), he began to doubt his earlier resolution. Even older, he thought, Who the hell cares?   
  
The arrangement by which he was sent to Freeza also supported his theory: Rafe had had time to rebel against this; Vejiita had not. Of course, he was much younger than Rafe, but age was not relevant. He understood what home was and that he would be leaving it. If only someone had told him. Things could have run much more smoothly.   
  
For years, Vejiita complied to his father's last order to the tee. He trained when he was ordered to, he did as he was told, he kept his mouth shut, and avoided everyone. Order are orders, and he had been raised to obey. To remember the family honor, the pride that, no matter what happened, he was the son of the King, was a prince. He kept up this lifestyle of honor and hope and pride and self-confidence - and to a point - love, until he was eight.   
  
It was the climax and finale of his childhood. He had dealt with many traumatic events in his short life, both back home and here under Freeza's command. But this case was the most traumatic, most vile and degrading thing that had happened to him yet. He never would have considered it happening. He wouldn't have believed it had even been happening when it was had the pain not been so... intense... so personal. But it had.   
  
It was a stranger, who did it, someone Vejiita had seen once or twice before. He wasn't sure what about him caught his attention, or what he did to deserve this. He was just scared. Even just as eight, he had gotten his fair share of beatings, but this particular incident didn't end as it had with his father, in the past. He was beaten till no shirt could cover the bruises, then was kicked to the floor.   
  
The stranger sat on his legs. He tore off the boy's clothes. This affirmed the accumulating feeling of "wrongness" of this situation. He felt the hands smooth across his sides and his back and down his legs. He suddenly felt something cold and sharp pressed against his skin. Panic rose in his chest, and he screamed for the first time since this started when the blade was stabbed between his shoulders.   
  
Then the stranger -- Vejiita wasn't sure at first, just that there was pain, a far more fiercer, vindictive pain that the once from the blade. Only when the first thrust was completed did Vejiita realized he was being invaded.   
  
The knife sliced through his skin as easily as the stranger tore into his once-virgin body. The man twisted the knife in his side. He slammed into the boy harder, ripping him apart. Vejiita howled, he cried, he tried to fight back. The cold blade was just dragged dangerously deep across his thigh, the man hissing huskily for him to be quiet, that it wasn't necessary for him to be alive... An undetermined time later, Vejiita felt a final, brutal thrust, and then all was still, except for the throbbing in his head and the pain burning his veins.   
  
It was never over. Even after he had gotten off and had left, it still wasn't over. The incident went through is head over and over again as he lay there. Perversly, he thought of his father. _I have failed you._ Then he contradicted himself.   
  
_But why did my punishment have to be so severe? I'm not that bad... _  
  
A wave of fury suddenly wracked Vejiita's abused body. _Fine, father, it is so clear now. You hate me. If you felt any less than hate towards me, you would not have allowed the circumstances to be set up for this to happen. You would have made some sort of attempt to keep me safe._   
  
_I hate you._   
  
Then he blacked out.   
  
But what Vejiita didn't know, was that the moment those three words rang through his head, Montgomery Robert was born.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
Mont shivered, unable to shake off the tingling feeling that crawled over his skin. He both hated and loved that day. When Vejiita had silently sworn hatred towards his father, Montgomery had finally decided to take over the body. It wasn't that he _couldn't_ before -- he just didn't want to; there had never been an appropriate time. He had to defend his father. He honored his father; he understood that his father was long-dead and could have hardly prevented it from happening. It was not his fault -- if it was anyone's fault, it had to be Vejiita's. He should have been more careful.   
  
Vejiita had fallen apart then. If Montgomery hadn't taken over then, Vejiita would have been killed one way or another. Montgomery was a Saiyajin. There was no way he was just going to let himself wither away!   
  
He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He did not want to think about that. Contrarily to his earlier proclamation of not giving a damn and letting it slide, the whole predicament still made him sick. He looked around, hoping to find something else to focus his attention on, and found a landscape similar to the one he had just left, wrecked buildings and patches of fire and all. He must have landed and cleaned out this area without really paying attention. He shrugged and declared the day seized and headed back to the sanctuary where the pods were kept. No one else was there yet, so he just leaned against one of the pods and waited. His thoughts wandered.   
  
Indeed, he, Montgomery, had told himself he had gotten through the rape. He had moved on within the week, where as Vejiita had only stopped dreaming about it recently. Or, at least he liked to believe he had moved on. Deep inside, he hadn't, not at all. He, too, still had the occasional nightmare about it, that kept him from getting to sleep anytime too. Both he and Vejiita had also developed an intense fear of any kind of blade.   
  
The fear of knives, he knew, had not originated during the rape. Vejiita had dealth with blades when he was even younger, back on Vejiitasei. This was a unique kind of fear, different from other kinds of fear. This was one of suspense, of betrayal. Of loss.   
  
He'd recall being held down, restrained by cruel hands or by stiff belts. Flat on his back or his stomach on a freezing metal table. Of knifes, small, straight, and narrow, slicing into his skin. Opening up his stomach, sometimes his spine. He would never rest while he saw these shiny scalpels flashing before his eyes. He was always afraid that'd he'd open them up to see a bloody soiled one in its place. He wasn't permitted to rest, anyway. With his father or mother hovering over him, Vejiita would watch the blade be pressed into his flesh. He'd feel it cutting away at his insides. He felt his hot blood running down his sides onto the operating table. Sometimes, even, to his absolute horror, they'd take things _out_, or put things in. That sense of invasion again, an imposter within him.   
  
Mont slipped deeper into the memory, almost reliving it. The first time Vejiita had been tied down on the table on his back. The knife cut his abdomen open. They operated on him. They sliced his stomach open. They cut something out. They later put it -- or something else, most likely, for it was shiny and unlike something that should be in a living body -- back in place. He was wide awake and well aware the entire time, not one drop of anesthetic in his body.   
  
The autopsy, this sick harvest of a boy's body, was done right under the father's nose. The prince of the Saiyajin was being picked apart and examined by the fundings of his own empire -- with the approval of his father, even, the man coming to watch when he had a rare free moment.   
  
Vejiita still had the scars across his stomach and back. Scars of dissection scars of the rapist's blade. Long, straight and controlled versus sporadic and deep and savage. Neither was less immoral than the other. Both made him want to pitch forward and vomit.   
  
Nevertheless, Montgomery harbored no ill-wished feelings towards his father. It was simply _not proper_ for a Saiyajin -- especially a prince -- to disrespect his father. That simple. He was Saiyajin. That didn't mean much to anyone anymore, being Saiyajin, but to Montgomery, just reminding himself of that helped him move on. He shoved the subject of the autopsy into the back of his mind. _Don't think of it. It means nothing. It never did_.   
  
A whistling sound caused Montgomery to withdraw from his memories. The other two on this mission had returned. The commander studied him for a moment, but didn't say anything. He merely signaled for them to prepare to leave; the job was done. He said nothing about their dead team mate or about Montgomery's loitering. Mont smiled crookedly. This guy was smart.   
  
He boarded his pod, his mind wandering again. He concentrated for the moment until they were free of orbit and heading back to headquarters. He had a very good work day today. Apart from his annoying reverie, he had measured up to his own standards. Now that the day was through, he decided now would be the appropiate time to let his mind wander again. It went straight back to his father. Strange, how much the man was on his mind today. He'd best not let it become a habit.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
Vejiita came to later during the jouney home. He was overwhelmed with nasea and disarray. He glanced at the console before him. Home? When did he leave? Where did he go? He glanced down at himself, hoping vainly for a clue. Dusty and bloody. He had been purging again. He hoped he didn't do anyting stupid this time. He sighed and looked out the small porthole, washing his hands of the situation as best he could. He didn't feel too tired so it was probably just a routine purging. He stopped thinking about it.   
  
He wet his lips and concentrated on a spot on the wall before him. He'd tried not to think about anything. He may have dozed off a few times. Mostly he tried to stay awake. He knew he had lost time again.   
  
When they landed Vejiita headed straight towards the showers. He was still feeling sick, and hoped that just a cool shower would snap him out of it a bit. But Craigie, who must have been waiting for him, intersected him and guided him towards the cafeteria. Vejiita had grown very close to Craig, who seemed to take more of an interest in him overnight. Vejiita, who ordinarily viewed everyone who was not a friend as an enemy, such was his up-bringing, was shocked at Craig's motives, but not at all upset. He was a brother. He was someone to fall back on. Vejiita sat next to him in the cafeteria and happily delayed his shower and rest for this strange Saiyajin.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
Chester was ecstatic.   
  
Montgomery was proud. Vejiita was growing up.   
  
  
  
*Otôto means younger brother in Japanese. 


	4. DECIPHER

**

Rhyme & Reason 3:  
[ D E C I P H E R ]

  
**  
  
  


Chester was depressed.   
  
He didn't know what was wrong with him. He wasn't usually like this at all. It was because of Montgomery. All Montgomery's fault. It had started about three years ago, when Montgomery, caught in an uncharacteristic reflective mood, had let his mind wander to Vejiita's past, and to his own creation. Mont had let his musings seep into Vejiita and the other's psyches, therefore freeing himself of depression and denying he ever was. He's no better than Vejiita, Chester concluded. Denying and hiding from what they don't like. He was always doing this, whether he knew or not. But rarely had Chester been so impacted by one emotion. That was what was bothering him.   
  
He sighed and tried not to think of it, swiveling in his desk chair instead. He had been trying to write but found he was too distracted to concentrate on the characters. He was an artist and an author, something in which they all had an interested -- even Mont, believe it or not. Together, he and Vejiita had already completed two books, the most recent of which Craigie had already stolen. Chester had wanted to color more of it, to make it more exciting and lively, but Vejiita preferred things in black and white. He chose to leave it how it was. Vejiita would be very freaked out if he came to finding the whole book was colored when he had already decided to leave it in grayscale.   
  
Vejiita's uneasiness with their existence bothered Chester. He wished it wouldn't so much; it couldn't blame the guy for it since he didn't even _know_ they existed. But if Vejiita would only stop being so nervous, Chester would be free to do more things without the foresight of Vejiita tearing it all down. That was the main reason he let Vejiita work on the manga book with him -- he's be working on it _with_ him. It was the only time Vejiita ever worked with him. At least he was a good artist and decent story teller.   
  
Chester was starting to get dizzy so he stopped. His eyes fell on the light sketch of a girl on the paper. He almost smiled for the first time in days. Looking at this sketch, still dizzy, he understood why Craigie _really_ like his work. "It's porn, Vejiita," he had told him. "I like your porn." Chester would always give an exasperated sigh when he told him that. It was _not_ porn. The story Chester had developed just happened to call for women in it, and he just happened to be good at drawing women. "Maybe if you could read," he'd say to Craig, "you'd know it wasn't porn, dumbass." It was a futile argument. Craig was a perv and there was nothing he could do about it.   
  
The ghost of a smile suddenly faded, inexplicably remembering about which he was thinking just a few seconds ago. He hissed and slumped in his seat.   
  
Vejiita was lucky that Mont had come out when he had. Chester certainly wouldn't have. That wasn't what he was here for. He didn't come into existence the same way Mont had, either. Mont saved Vejiita's life but picking his body out of the pool of blood and washing up. Chester had been around for years before that, ever since Rafe died. Vejiita hadn't been a whole person since he was three. Just because he didn't become dominant and enter the world until a few years after Mont, didn't mean that he wasn't always watching. After his and Lars' discussion, Chester felt as though he had made his mark in the world, and started appearing more often.   
  
He picked up the pencil and doodle an angular figure with dark, bold lines. Contemplating his fragile existence wasn't making him feel better. It was too quiet. He'd like to get up and go play with Craig, but Montgomery had gotten out of control the other day while on a mission. He silently snickered at another seemingly similarity between Mont and Vejiita. When the situations became beyond their command, they lost their own selves, and someone else appeared instead of blacking out with them. Rob, Chester knew, had come out, and made short work of the planet, howling and laughing all the way. Mont was pissed because Rob had managed to suppress him, and Mont _hated_ to be suppressed. Chester had watched, laughing with Rob, but without the sadistic mirth, but now how he wished he had stopped Rob right away. But he hadn't and _he_ was paying.   
  
He was about the get up and see if Craig or anyone else would like to just hang and not fight or race, when his eyes caught the green digital numbers of the clock Mont had made. He had a frightening obsession with electronics. 1539 hours. He frowned. He was required to go to an assembly at eight; he resolved to go to very assembly scheduled since the last one, after which he had been brutally informed that he had missed out on. And it wasn't even his fault! Craig had noted Vejiita's depression and in an effort to help had gotten him drunk. At times, Chester understood Montgomery's occasional distasteful feelings towards Craig. Craig's intentions were good, but he usually just got him hurt.   
  
He stood and undressed. Montgomery was usually the one to attend these things, but Chester was restless despite his injuries, and didn't want to stand around listening to some veteran idiot soldier prattle on about battle tactics. Too add to his irritability, Montgomery always dressed in full apparel: armor, boots, gloves, the whole nine yards, as was required for any formal assemblage. He sighed; what a hassle. He was so much more comfortable shirtless and shoeless with nothing but some old pants on. And if he was cold and had to wear clothes, he always made sure they were roomy and shoes unlaced. This uniform crap made him want to yell ugly words at the universe.   
  
  
  
Chester smacked his head against the wall.   
  
"Those were the four most boring hours of my life," he muttered.   
  
"Hi, Vejiita," said Craig hopefully. He nodded distractedly to him, accepting the name Vejiita as his own so not to cause confusion, and slid down next to him. They liked sitting on the floor.   
  
Craig leaned over and studied his face. "What's the matter?"   
  
"Nothing's the matter."   
  
"Yes there is," he insisted. "You've been so quiet. You're never quiet unless your drugged, intoxicated, or if something's bothering you. Tell me," he said.   
  
Chester grumbled and pushed him away.   
  
"You know what you need, pal?" he continued. "A blow-job." He stared at him with shock. "Yeah. You know I'm right."   
  
"Uh huh." Craig patted his leg.   
  
"We should go on a trip," he told him. He had Chester's attention now. "I know you go out on those purging mission to different planets all the time. That's work, right?" Chester nodded. "Work isn't fun. Let's go somewhere fun."   
  
"Okay, sure." Craig grinned. He was glad he had gotten Vejiita when he was such a good mood. "Where?"   
  
"Who the hell cares. Anywhere."   
  
  
  
They didn't manage to get away until a few months later. It turned out that Vejiita had another mission lined up only a few days after the last one, and it had been a rough one too, so he had to spend a few days in the recovery room. And then Vejiita had to schedule a time to leave. That was tricky; people didn't consider the two Saiyajin, both at the age of sixteen, old enough or or had worked enough to take authorized leave. Especially since Craig didn't do a damn thing on a good day. They finally won the argument when it was pointed out that Vejiita had been working since he was a young child, and had only had breaks between missions for the regulated recovery periods granted to every soldier.   
  
Vejiita said, "We still haven't decided _where_." The other Saiyajin gave him a funny look. They were in their room, Craig standing on the bed with just his shorts and shoes on, looking around the room for anything they may have missed. An over-stuffed duffel bag hung from his hand.   
  
"I said I don't care."   
  
Vejiita fell silent and looked back to the sketchbook on his knee. "Well, we still need a location to set the course," he finally said, looking back up at his half-naked roommate, who was appreciatively pulling a shirt over his head.   
  
"Why?"   
  
Vejiita gave him a dirty look. "Why do you think? Space is big. If you're not careful, you'll get lost. And no one will help you."   
  
  
  
Finally.   
  
They were leaving headquarters and off to a planet that was not destined to be destroyed by his hands. The realization had a strange elating effect on Vejiita. He inhaled deeply, for once not minding the stale, stuffy air of the diminutive space pod. He was off to a strange world and there was not the distress and deeply buried contradiction that was usually threatening to numb his brain. Craigie was right: work is no fun. He needed this vacation. He needed to get away from the smothering environment and stiff behavior of Freeza's Army. With Craig was the only time he allowed himself to unfold, and then there was always the underlying anxiety of knowing he might not _be_ there the next minute.   
  
_I will not black out,_ he ordered himself. _Just concentrate, and you'll stay awake. Relax._   
  
He dreaded the blank spaces, where he did not exist. It was the fear of not knowing. And the fear of the unknown becoming the known. He knew he did bad things. The people he had unwittingly pissed off had assured him of it.   
  
The dormancy mode light blinked a warning: gaseous anesthetic would fill the small area within the minute. Vejiita leaned back and got as comfortable as possible. It wasn't that long of a trip to the unnamed planet, but just long enough for someone to go crazy from the boredom and confinement of a long trip alone in the small sphere.   
  
He didn't remember what he dreamed about. He was sure he dreamed, though, because when he stepped out of the pod and sank his feet into the springy, alien grass of the planet known only as CV013, he felt different, somehow. He felt refreshed. It wasn't that strong of a feeling, but after three years of on-and-off depression, it was like being born again.   
  
He turned to Craig, smiling. "Great place, eh, Vejiita? Randomness.. what a thing.." Vejiita nodded. That supported the elated feeling: the total randomness and lack of foresight on this trip. The lack of responsibility. He laughed. He felt like a teenager.   
  
Craigie was hollering for him to follow him. "Come on!"   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
Vejiita sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He couldn't see. He could barely hear the voices coming from the other side of the bedroom door. He wondered for a while if he had caught the same virus the woman had. But he didn't, he knew that. It wasn't contagious. And he hadn't spent a great amount of time with here, either. This was no sickness. There was just something wrong with him.   
  
There was a sharp banging sound - Vejiita nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared at the door for a moment before he found his voice. "What?"   
  
"Vejiita, are you in there?" He frowned and didn't answer. He learned back on the bed and threw his arm over his eyes. The female voice continued but he didn't hear a word. She would just be trying to reassure him that Bulma was doing okay. He didn't want to hear about it - he cared, but... It was just too much right now.   
  
He heard her leave and relaxed, sliding his arm off his face.   
  
He was alone in this room. He had never had a room all to himself before he came to Earth. Well.. when he was much younger - still living on Vejiitasei - he had a room to himself, but he usually slept with Rafe anyway. And then when he was shipped to Freeza, he always wound up with a roommate. He had slept with Bulma for the past few years. And now he was confined to the guest room while she was quarantined.   
  
With a sigh, he picked himself off the bed and stalked towards the door. His back was horribly sore but he was so restless. He wanted to stay in this room, away from everybody else, but he couldn't forever.   
  
He paused, resting his hand on the doorknob. On and off, on and off. In and out, here and gone. The fucking story of his life. One minute he was exhausted, listless, then he felt, like now, like he couldn't hold still for the life of him. He hadn't been able to claim two successive days completely as his own for a while now. He still didn't know why he blanked out all the time. He would have asked someone on this planet - they seemed friendly enough - but they always stopped talking when he approached them. It seemed he had made a horrible first impression with them, too.   
  
He shook his head and pulled the door open. He found himself pacing the hallway aimlessly before he made his way to the staircase. The kitchen was empty. The others - Vejiita didn't note who - were in another room and didn't notice them. Good; he didn't want to get to know them if they didn't want to know him. He eyed the six-pack of beer for a moment in the refrigerator It reminded him of Craig. He hadn't seen him in a while; they had a sort of falling out after six or seven years of living with each other. He missed him terribly, but sometimes he was glad he was out of his hair. Craig hated to see him sad and did what he could to help him, but Vejiita wasn't happy drunk. It made things worse.   
  
He shut the fridge and poured himself a glass of water instead.   
  
  
  
It was six years after the Cell games. Kakarotto was gone and things had been quiet. Earlier this year Bulma had gotten sick. The doctor said that it was just the flu, but after a few months and any progress quickly relapsing, it was confirmed that it was more than just the flu. Her illness didn't have a proper name, as it was a "fluke", and the doctors just told her to ride it out.   
  
When Bulma was sick she was terribly moody. Vejiita couldn't handle both her moodiness and the stress of trying to take care of her, and found himself blacking out all the time. The others had remarked off-handedly about Vejiita's aloofness one minute and hyperactivity or energy the next. He knew what they were hinting about and made no comment. He avoided their stares and kept his mouth shut. He had nothing to say, after all, and even if he did... Well, he never spoke when he was accused of doing something of which he had no memory. The discomfort he had of the subject hadn't changed a bit since he was a teenager.   
  
He was bewildered, worse than he ever was back under Freeza's command. He tried to "ride it out" like Bulma was with her illness, but it was harder for him. He was surrounded by strangers who hadn't taken kindly to him and badgered him about his alleged behavior, stuck on a planet that was unfamiliar, regardless of all the time he'd spent on it, and worst of all, no Craigie.   
  
He wasn't lost, he was just wandering.   
  
And today, on the outer territory of the Capsule Corp complex, he ran into a familiar face.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
Their trip was over far too fast. They hadn't spent too much time together; they seemed to have come to a silent agreement that this vacation was as much as a break from work as it was from each other. On the twelfth day on the planet they met up again. Craig was elated, having thoroughly enjoyed his days of screwing around with no Lars to holler at him. Vejiita was feeling almost as well; he had stayed awake for most of the time, and he hadn't run into hostile natives, which meant nothing got out of control.   
  
Or, not much got out of control.   
  
Vejiita didn't mention what he had done to Craig until they had gotten home. He didn't want him laughing at him, joking. Craig had always teased him about how sexually delayed Vejiita was. Vejiita shrugged it off nonchalantly, even though it did bother him a bit. It was hard for him to say if Craig was right or not, all the guys he grew up with were sexually active quite early, having no parents to keep an eye out for them or to explain the differences between right and wrong. And Vejiita never had that much of an interest in people 'that' way, anyway. He did take an interest in people sexually from time to time, but this time.. it was different.   
  
Craig and Vejiita knew most of the people they slept with. People their age were scarce, so they stuck together. Vejiita, unlike Craig, had his morals and principles. This girl just made him turn his back on the ethnic code that separated him from the rest of his peers.   
  
He met her on the fifth day. He hadn't even caught her name until the end. He was wandering humbly through the small city she lived in, not quite blending in with the natives, but not a threat nevertheless. Night came, he ran into her... She reminded him like Leki, talkative, laughed a lot, sweet. And she seemed to like him, which always put Vejiita in a go-get and trusting mood.   
  
He knew it was her first time, and was flattered that she would do it with him. Of course, he didn't know much about this planet's culture or what sex meant them. Adding to that was that it wasn't a rape of any kind - she wanted it, he wanted it, mutual.   
  
Her name was Jugatsu and she had beautiful eyes.   
  
  
  
About a year later, Vejiita was informed of his next morbid mission. _Vejiita-San-- on the nineteenth day of this month at precisely 0900 hours you are to report to the departure hangar. Your destination is CV013 of the FR156 star. You will be accompanied by three teammates. You have one week to clear off all resistant life forms._ It was disgusting how light and cheery the computerized male voiced sounded in his ear. He was being assigned to murder the population of an entire planet and they made it seem like it was just an insignificant errand job to buy the groceries for the week.   
  
His disgust quickly turned into shock. He grabbed an old notebook and flipped through the pages of his journal. Shit. He was scheduled to wipe out the life of the one planet on which he had relaxed. As he boarded the pod, he felt mournfully that he was betraying this planet that had once been trusting enough to let him spend his holiday on it. His and Craig's vacationing on the amicable world could have very well attracted whoever assigned the mission's attention.   
  
_Don't want us to get attached to the damn thing,_ he thought bitterly.   
  
Vejiita instantly separated from his "teammates" and headed in the direction where he had met that girl. It was a stupid idea, he knew; one of them followed him, curious as to why he had set off in this direction without waiting for any sort of directions. Vejiita didn't really know what happened then; it was a blur. He traveled from consciousness to blankness several times in the few minutes he and his pursuer argued. All he knew was that he found himself staring into two big glittering eyes.   
  
He came to awhile later, sitting in the middle of rubble. He gazed around, bemused, and spotted his old pursuer standing on a collapsed building, looking pretty self-satisfied. He was saying, "I don't know what is with you. Just kill that boy, and let's move on. I'm done here. Go on - kill him!"   
  
Becoming more and more confused by the second, Vejiita finally looked in front of him. He murmured an "oh" of realization. The two glittering eyes belonged to the boy he was being ordered to kill. "You want me to kill this one?" he asked.   
  
"Yes," said the other, getting annoyed.   
  
"But he's not resistant..." He recalled the exact orders that were cited in their assignment.   
  
"Don't twist words around!" he screamed. "Get rid of it and let's _go_!"   
  
Vejiita gazed down at the bright-eyed boy. "I think I'll keep him."   
  
The other man huffed. "Whatever." He blasted off into the distance. Vejiita stayed put, mesmerized and perplexed by the boy.   
  
This child had the same eyes as Jugatsu. On the girl they had been beautiful, but on the kid they were disturbing. Vejiita shook his head, mostly at his softness towards the child rather than the bright eyes. He took the boy with him, ignoring the scoffing of the others when he held the boy down on his lap in the pod when they were ready to leave. He ignored them. Not like he'd ever see them again.   
  
Unsurprisingly, he was summoned to see Freeza the moment he landed. A personal servant of Freeza ran up to him and delivered his message while Vejiita was stretching his cramped limbs. He concluded, "And Freeza-Sama wants you to bring the alien with you." He glanced at the little kid who was still sitting in the pod. Vejiita gestured and followed the messenger with the boy at his heels.   
  
Vejiita had swallowed his pride, and lifted the boy in his arms, deciding not to assume Freeza was in a good mood and would not kill the boy the minute he stepped foot into the vast room.   
  
Freeza studied them for a few moments before actually spoke. "Vejiita, what were you thinking?"   
  
He didn't answer. He was curious to know that himself.   
  
Freeza frowned. "I asked a question--"   
  
Vejiita didn't hear the rest. It was silent, his blood pounding loudly in his ears. His sight started to grow dark. He didn't know what happened – he was just gone. Montgomery had taken over. This was a serious issue and if not handled right, he'd be dead. Montgomery shifted the child and set him on the ground, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder.   
  
"Freeza-Sama," he said, his voice fuller than usual, "I found this child and I saw something in him. I will admit, it was unthinking of me to bring a native home without permission, but you should understand that I knew what I was doing. I would have brought this to your attention immediately, had you not been informed before my return first, but I would very much like to keep this child and raise him--"   
  
"Vejiita," Freeza cut him off, "I raised you and it is not something I'd like to repeat. I don't want any more children around here. You may dispose of it yourself. But do it promptly."   
  
Montgomery struggled not to let his fury show on his face. He went to all this trouble to save this brat from dying with the others when they destroyed that city—! This was _his_ boy, he was _not_ going to kill him! He calmed down; Freeza probably knew it was his son, and thought Montgomery saw it as an heir. Well, he did, but that wasn't the point. He had been in a great mood these days, due to Vejiita's more outgoing disposition, and wanted to make him happy to show his gratification.   
  
"Sire," he said, "may I instead place him on a safe planet somewhere in your empire where he would be both safe and out of the way?"   
  
Freeza said after a moment of consideration, "I suppose, if you _really_ want to keep it alive. It doesn't matter to me - I just don't want the thing underfoot." Montgomery beamed inside. "But don't think you'll be admitting free days all time so you can.. visit it."   
  
"Yes, Freeza-Sama."   
  
He sneered. "Be happy that I'm not killing both of you right now. You're lucky that I'm letting you do this, Vejiita." He nodded curtly. "Don't do this ever again," he warned, wrapping up the ordeal. "I don't know what you were thinking, but it couldn't have possibly been anything sensible. After you send that thing off, I suggest that you check into the medical ward for a few days. I don't need a nonsensical soldier."   
  
Montgomery bowed, turned and left, a sneer on his face. All the same, he was quite pleased.   
  
His job done, he turned the body over to someone else. He didn't take note as to whom came out of the depths of Vejiita's mind, he was basking in the glory of getting what he wanted. _Otousan you would have been proud. I got one up on the bastard._   
  
It was Chester who had come out, curious of this boy. Even though he was Vejiita's boy and he had no relation, and didn't really like kids that much, the very fact that Mont had gone to the trouble to keep him alive was something to heed.   
  
Funny-looking kid, Chester thought, smiling. I think I'll keep him around a bit longer.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
The boy was now a man. A strong young man, with a wide grin and laughing eyes. Vejiita couldn't look away from the eyes. Even after all this time, they just didn't look right on the boy. The glittering gold eyes suddenly grew serious and bore into Vejiita. He shifted uneasily. His son laughed.   
  
"Yeah," he chuckled, purposely holding eye contact with his father, "I thought you'd act like that."   
  
"Shut up," Vejiita snarled, scowling. "Why are you here?"   
  
He shrugged. "I met up with a strange guy; called himself Craig. He recognized me and said he was an old pal of yours." He shrugged again, winked, and reached into a bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder. He withdrew an envelop that looked like it had gone through hard times before ending up with the boy. "Said to give this to you next time I saw ya." He held it out.   
  
Vejiita scrutinized the envelope skeptically before snatching them. He just barely deciphered his name scrawled in the center of the envelop, horribly botched by Craig's terrible penmanship. He looked at the boy sharply. "You came all the way here from God knows where just to give me some dumb letter?"   
  
"I was passing through," he replied flippantly. Vejiita chose not to press further into the matter. He didn't recall where he had shipped him off to when he was just a child; he didn't even remember seeing him off. in fact.   
  
Anyway, it didn't matter where his son was going; just that he was staying out of trouble. This day was only the second time they had been reunited since he was a baby. Vejiita had last seen him about a year before he first came to Earth; he must have been thirteen or fourteen then. It was a brief encounter and Vejiita had done his best to make it clear that he would try to take care of him without saying anything or doing anything. He decided the boy got the point. He wasn't stupid. But.. then again, he didn't know Vejiita that well, and certainly couldn't have picked up on Vejiita's obscure facial expressions, which were the only link that interpreted how he was feeling deep down. He had meant to contact him more often, but the older he got, the more work he was expected to execute, and the less free time he had....   
  
Vejiita was tempted to read the letter right then. It suddenly seemed important. But the other spoke first.   
  
"Well, I'll be going then."   
  
Vejiita said, his voice oddly hoarse, "Why don't you stay awhile – here... On this planet..."   
  
The boy thought a moment. His uncanny eyes glittered. A smile touched his mouth. "Alright," he said softly. "I guess I will."   
  
He stared blankly at the boy's chin. "Good." He didn't ask any stupid questions: where will you stay, how did you get here, what did Craig say, how's he doing? Finally the stupidest question came out: "What do they call you these days?"   
  
"Duh," he said. He stuck out his hand, as if to introduce himself. Vejiita didn't move. "They call me Gold-Eye--" he winked "–No one calls me by that _other_ name."   
  
"Other name?" Vejiita repeated.   
  
Gold-Eye shrugged, "The place you sent me. They named me something there but no one calls me that."   
  
"You have a stupid name." Vejiita frowned.   
  
"Easy to remember," was the reply, devoid of defensiveness or anger or hurt.   
  
"I guess..."   
  
Gold-Eye flicked the paper in his hand. "You read that, old man. And leave me alone." He winked. "Maybe I'll see you around."   
  
Vejiita snorted. "I hope not."   
  
Being cold was easier than trying to care. Fortunately for them both, Gold-Eye felt the exact same way.   
  
  
  
He slipped into the main building a few minutes later undetected. Gold-Eye always had a positive effect on him. In his frantic flight on Gold-Eye's long-gone home world, he had faced his pursuer on, and had stayed conscious most of the time. He stay conscious up until he faced Freeza, where he had blacked out again, but then had some enjoyable time with the little kid. Craig even behaved himself around the child. During the two's chance encounter, again felt a bit more elated. He didn't feel sick or dizzy or anything right now. He even felt well enough to draw and write again. That something he hadn't done since he and Craig separated; he was nineteen then. He blamed it on his shoulder, claiming it had been sore since Craig had fallen on him and broken it. He even went as far as to chew Craig out, saying he had destroyed his career forever. But in reality, he just didn't have the heart to do it.   
  
He sketched for a few minutes before his mind started wandering again and he couldn't concentrate. Annoyed at how quickly inspiration had burnt out, he looked down at the paper. He had drawn random geometrical images. He raised an eyebrow at it. The squares, triangles, and trapezoids' proportions were off, and they looked very odd. He lifted the paper up and tilted it, trying to study it without giving himself a headache. He shrugged and stood, wrinkling up the paper and tossing it in the garbage. The spirit to draw had left him and was replaced with only frustration.   
  
The smudged envelope stared up from him from the table. What was in it? Vejiita was sure there was more in there than Gold-Eye let it seem. But Craig wasn't known for seriousness.   
  
He frowned. He and Craig split up years ago, after almost a decade of living in the same cramped room together, he reminisced. He was moving to a different base entirely, as was Craig. Craig had told him offhandedly that he wasn't going to take "this shit" and Vejiita knew he meant it. He doubted Craig went to where he was assigned. He had to admire his gall, Vejiita thought sadly. Vejiita did as he was told without voicing any contradiction he had on the subject. He did so with a reason; he, not Craig, was the one who went on missions, conditioned to kill and destroy without hesitation. Craig didn't know the ruthlessness and quick-thinking one had to develop to survive. Craig didn't know that opposition and impudence could get you killed in verbosity as quickly as slowness and lack of talent would in a physical fight.   
  
He had imagined him dead.   
  
....Was this a farewell, written as Craig lay dying somewhere, or with a gun pointed out his head? Was this going to be something that'll make Vejiita fall apart as he did when Rafe had done the same thing?   
  
Or a cry for help? Maybe Craig got in trouble somewhere and needed him to bail him out. Vejiita frowned. That would be just like him.   
  
Making a split-second decision, he finally broke down and ripped open the letter. Better read fast and not get upset. He might not fall asleep or black out if got this over with quickly.   
  
He sat down on the floor, set his jaw, and began to read.   
  



	5. INTERLUDE

**

Rhyme & Reason 4:  
[ i n t e r l u d e ]

**  
  
  


_Well, Vejiita. I'm finally writing this all down. I have to say, I'm not sure I really remember it all. It's been about a year since I last talked to you. Do you remember? I'll bet you don't. You were only there for a few minutes. Then someone else came in your place. I don't mean you got up and left or anything. It was still you sitting there, but the way you talked and spoke was as if another person __had_ sat down in your place. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you acting so strange and different all of a sudden. You'd joke, you'd laugh, you were loud. You said to me, that day, that you wanted to talk. You said, out of nowhere, "Craig, do you know who this is?" I laughed and replied, "Yeah, sure. Of course. I'm talking to you, Vejiita." You told me, no, that I was wrong. You said that Vejiita wasn't here right now. That you weren't Vejiita; never was, never would be. Then you said you were Chester.   
  
  
Vejiita, I was as confused as you must be now. You don't remember any of this, do you? About being as loud and obnoxious as me. You don't know anyone else like me. I'm not crazy, Vejiita. This Chester guy, whom, by the way, I have met before, but always assumed that it was just you "in a good mood," said that he had been around for almost as long as you. He grew up with you, saw everything you saw. He's not a scary, creepy guy, Vejiita, honest. He's okay. He isn't someone who spies on you.   
  
  
Maybe you're thinking, "Chester, hm? That's what that Lars guy always called me. Craigie, could you be drunk and just a little confused?"   
  
  
Vejiita, I swear, I know what I'm talking about. And you can validate that, you know. You don't fully recall our last conversation, do you? But you remember sitting down across from me and saying hi to me. By the way, Chester said at the end of the night that he felt sort of bad about depriving from you a final conversation with your only real friend. By Chester said that he felt that he and I were closer than you and I ever were. A great guy, Chester, in my opinion, but quite biased. I'll admit, though, that he's much more fun to be around than you, but I certainly enjoy your company. Don't think I'm saying this just because I don't want to hurt your feelings. You're not half as bad as you think you are, really.   
  
  
After Chester and I got properly acquainted (he mentioned it felt strange since he had already known me for six years), he told me there were others. I didn't get it either, Vejiita. I still don't, really. I still don't fathom Chester's reasoning about how he isn't _you_. I mean, you're in the same body, right? Just one brain. Yeah... anyway, about the others....   
  
  
Actually, Chester cautioned me about telling you this. They all know about you, he said, but you don't have a clue about them. He said he wasn't sure how well you'd handle this realization. But I have far more respect for you than to keep this information from you. I know you're strong enough to handle it– you must be strong, to not be an alcoholic or drug junkie or raving lunatic after everything we went through. I've barely made it in one piece myself... So, brace yourself. I will put this all down on paper now.   
  
  
Chester started off by telling me about "Montgomery," who he called a prick, but to when he had to give credit for handling some sticky situations that Chester was sure he couldn't have gotten out of himself. He said Montgomery usually went on those missions and assemblies you've always hated so much. He also said that Montgomery was sort of intimidating and short-tempered, and that I was the only one he tolerated and considered a friend.   
  
  
"Rob," Chester told me then, is a killer, both similar and different than Montgomery. Rob (not Robert) kills for the sake of killing, and the thrill that goes along with it, and Montgomery kills for a reason. In Chester's own words, Montgomery has "fucked-up logic , a twisted sense of pride, and is a self-righteous fool who should turn his energy towards more productive things than making the universe better suited towards his own tastes." In short Montgomery is a self-proclaimed righteous bastard (another quote from Chester) with a terrible arrogant streak and Rob just causes uncalled for chaos.   
  
  
The discussion of Rob bled into "Rip." Chester listed the things Rob and Rip had in common. Both are spontaneous and impulsive and have no foresight of the consequences of their actions. However, Rob is much more conscious than Rip. I mean, Rob won't flip out on you for no good damn reason, only when you annoy him. Chester's advice about the latter, "When he comes out – _Run_." Rip does not think. He has no emotions. He does not negociate. But Rob will, if you catch him in a good mood. He's a bit more civil than Rip. Chester said both of their dispositions have been improving since the last time they exposed themselves.   
  
  
In any case, Chester said not to worry; Rip and Rob don't come out too terribly often. Mostly you, himself, and Montgomery ration out locomotion of your body.   
  
  
All quite unbelievable, what I've told you, don't you agree, Vejiita? I voiced my doubts: "Are you really what you say you are? Are there really all these people inside you? Vejiita? Are you putting me on?" Chester seemed disappointed at my suspicion but was more angry than sad. He stood up and screamed at me about how he was confiding to me something he had never brought up before. He said more, pal, but it's irrelevant, and I don't think you want to know what he said, either. Let's just said that I believe him.   
  
  
I'm getting tired Vejiita, my mind is going blank. I'm sorry, but I pity you. None of these characters, save Chester, seem to be that likable. I should have asked him to write this all down when I had the chance; he's the "memory trace" of all these people. He knows when and why they turned up in the first place. And he would have been able to tell you about it, for this situation is far more complicated than I'm sure I've made it sound. But I do remember something else he said, the only other thing that's stuck with me since we split up. They, according to Chester (who is also talking about himself – to a point) , turn up and take over when you can't and black out. When you're angry, or scared, stressed, of feeling trapped. They do what you can't do when you're paralyzed from the those sort of emotions. Save the omniscient, sociable Chester, the others all originally appeared due to something that happened. He wouldn't tell me anymore. He said it was none of my damn business.   
  
  
He made it seem that, in all likelihood, none of them had gone away, and probably never would. And there was always the probability of _more_ turning up, even now. But he says he doesn't know how likely that is.   
  
  
I'm sorry, I don't know what else to tell you, Vejiita. You know that they exist now, at least. That will explain the blank periods you've mentioned before. I can only wish you the best of luck and the ability to cope with this illness. Try not to trouble yourself too badly about this – Chester is a level-headed guy when he wants to be; he can stop the others if they get too out of hand.   
  
  
I'll try to stay in touch.   
  
  
  
–Craigie   
  
  



	6. KAKAROTTO

**

Rhyme & Reason 5:   
[ K A K A R O T T O ]

**  
  
  
_Notes: Gokou didn't ever go off with that weird Ubuu kid :P_   
  


  
  
Black. Dark gray. Navy blue. More black. Oh, here's some green, but it's so dark it might as well be black. Oh, wait, what's this? White? Could it really be?   
  
He pulled the contrasting material out of the drawer. It was a white T-shirt with the words CAPSULE CORP. written boldlyacross the front in red. On the back was the number five.   
  
_Vejiita's such a gloomy guy,_ Chester thought, pulling the old white shirt over his head, _with all this black stuff. Gothic freak._ He chuckled quietly. He preferred bright, bold colors himself. This white shirt with red lettering, however, would be good enough for now. He could always steal Vejiita's youngest son's clothes if he really wanted to. He and the fourteen-year-old probably were about the same size. Bah, he thought. It's just clothes. He buckled a black belt around his waist, holding the worn khaki pants up. He should be worrying more about Vejiita's diet than his wardrobe.   
  
Vejiita ate okay, considering his size, but it wouldn't hurt for him to eat _more_. Especially now – ever since Gold-Eye had delivered the letter from Craig of what Chester had told him many years ago, Vejiita seemed... deflated. This was what he had warned Craig of. Vejiita had been spacing out more often on his own, with neither Chester nor the others intruding on his consciousness. He spaced out during mealtimes and in the middle of scheduled training times -- both his own personal training, and sparring sessions scheduled with Kakarotto.   
  
In the kitchen now, Chester looked over the refrigerator door at the wall calender. Vejiita's daughter always crossed off one square box every evening, right after supper. The last box was the eighth. It was in the very center of the row. So today was Wednesday the ninth. Of September. And the clock above the calendar indicated that it was a quarter to eleven a.m.   
  
He and Kakarotto had a sparring session at two o' clock. Or was it one? Chester shrugged, pulling out leftover spaghetti and a container of tomato sauce. Details. He'd go at one and if Kakarotto was not there – which was very likely, considering all the sessions Vejiita had already failed to meet – he'd simply go to Kakarotto and make him fight. It was for Vejiita's own good. Besides, Chester liked Kakarotto. He was always nice to him, despite his tardiness and arrogance in the past. He had been extremely pleased when he heard that Kakarotto was returning from the dead permanently. Mont's indignation was amusing.   
  
However, he hesitated to say that he liked him the same way he liked Craigie. They were very different. Craig was loud, a pervert at the best of times. Kakarotto was just as childish as the other, but more innocent. But he wasn't a dumbass, really.   
  
Chester mixed the tomato sauce onto the cold spaghetti on his plate and inhaled it and jumped right back up to the fridge.   
  
Craigie. Chester wished more than Vejiita that it had been Craig who delivered the letter rather than Gold-Eye. It wasn't like the reunion with Gold-Eye meant anything to him; he wasn't _his_ son, after all. And he already knew what was the in letter. He was from where all the information originally came.   
  
Sitting on the floor this time, leaning against the cupboards. He remembered that day well. Vividly. That dreary day when he was nineteen, he and the other erratic Saiyajin had sat across from each other at a small round table in a cramped cafeteria at the departure hangar. He and Craig had just gotten notice of where they were going to reassigned to. It said that they would be called to leave later tonight or sometime during the next day. The planet their home had been on for the last decade had recently been declared impracticable and useless. This headquarters was to be barren by the end of the week and the planet's surface was going to cleaned off and the atmosphere filtered of the toxins that had gathered over the many years it had harbored Freeza's anything but preservative headquarters.   
  
They had taken the news badly. Craig was beyond pissed. Vejiita was sad. He knew much of relocating. He hated being uprooted. It took him so long to readjust to a new place. And the chance of he and Craig ending up with each other was... very unlikely. He didn't respond to Craig's raving over the topic; it was his way of expressing grief over moving.   
  
But, today, possibly the last time they'd ever sit together, Craig was somber. Quiet. So unlike him, it unnerved and plainly upset Vejiita. He had nothing to say; it was up to his friend to fill up the gaps between saying hello and saying goodbye.   
  
Chester had to say something.   
  
He had to get it out. It was wigging him out almost as much as it was Vejiita.   
  
He told him everything. He knew the other was skeptical, but intrigued all the same. The reasons behind Vejiita's drastic mood swings were coming into place. Craig accepted Chester's introduction of himself as a separate entity of Vejiita soundly. It was the others he knew he was nervous about. Of course, after having divulged rather detailed scenes of Vejiita's life, he shut up and went back to listening. Chester had screamed at him, and he had great lungs for screaming.   
  
He was surprised when Craig asked if he could tell Vejiita about it. He knew that Vejiita wasn't aware of the people who shared his body, and Chester supposed he was concerned for him. Chester shrugged it off with a vague affirmation; yes, tell him if you wish, just be sensitive about it. He's not as casual as I.   
  
He was nineteen then. After he and Craig had left the condemned headquarters, Vejiita had lived his life alone and had grown up to be the thirty-nine year old man he was today. Chester was still nineteen. And there he would remain.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
Son Gokou pulled on his heavy training shoes in preparation for the sparring match with Vejiita later this afternoon. _Hopefully,_ he added. He was a bit worried about him. Goten had told him after returning one evening after a day with Trunks that his friend's parents weren't getting along that well. Bulma was becoming exasperated with Vejiita's aloofness. "He's acting strange," Trunks had reported the last time he was at the Son residence, three days ago. "More than usual. Not himself at all."   
  
_No kidding,_ Gokou had agreed when he heard that. He remembered, perturbed, their last session, which was two weeks ago. They had sparred for not even twenty minutes when Vejiita had abruptly stopped, landed, and sat down. Naturally concerned, he said, "Vejiita, what's wrong?" Are you tired, are you hurt? he asked, cringing inwardly at the expected answer.   
  
He was leaned forward, his eyes unfocused and concentrating on something past Gokou. His face betrayed no emotion. He didn't say anything to Gokou's badgering at first, then vaguely complained of stomach pains. He said he didn't want to spar anymore that day. Gokou's concern doubled. Vejiita, admitting that he was in pain? Didn't want to fight?   
  
The next week he hadn't shown up.   
  
He had been absent for such sessions before, but he always returned eventually, usually after no more than two misses. Ordinarily, when the other Saiyajin hackled him about missing the sessions, he would either dismiss his questions with a casual wave of a hand; usually, however, he would terminate the interrogation by attacking him and thus starting the sparring match.   
  
At noon – lunch – Goten noticed his father's training gear. He smiled. "Father, going to spar with Vejiita-San today?" Vejiita was almost like a second father to him, or at least another older brother. He liked him because Vejiita meant Trunks. They were just as close now as they had been before and during the Buu fiasco.   
  
Gokou smiled and was about to say that he was, but Chichi cut him off. "I don't know why you trouble yourself with that guy, Gokou," she said. "It's obviously he doesn't care about you, or he would be more responsible about these sparring sessions." She no longer bothered to voice her distaste at these frequent sparring sessions. The complaint always lingered silently at the end of her sentences. "I don't understand why _anyone_ would want to be with him," she finished off. She ignored Goten, who had angrily shoved a forkful of food in his mouth to keep from yelling. She was insulting Vejiita-San, and therefore Trunks, and therefore Goten himself.   
  
Gokou laughed. "He's Vejiita, Chichi. This is just how he is. You know how moody he is."   
  
"Indeed," she murmured bitterly.   
  
He didn't say anything more, he knew the conversation was over. She was wrong, but her annoyance was justified: Vejiita wasn't a nice guy, but for sure he had his reasons! He burrowed his brow but tried not to look too worried. Something was definitely wrong with him the last time they met, and was probably the reason for him being absent last week. Had stomach pains been the reason behind other absences as well? He hoped not; it had to be pretty bad to force him to conclude the sparring period and go home.   
  
He didn't mention any of this. He wasn't sure how Chichi would react, and it would trouble Goten and he would mention it to Trunks. He didn't feel it was necessary for all the mess.   
  
A few minutes later, Goten declared himself finished and excused himself from the table and ran into the living room. They heard the television turn on immediately. "Damn that Playstation," Chichi seethed. Gokou chuckled. Goten had better watch out – school was starting soon and the gift from Trunks would be destroyed without notice. Goten knew that and had been cramming every free second of his rapidly disappearing summer vacation into playing video games.   
  
He helped himself to a few more servings of lunch then left the table while Chichi was hollering at Goten. Damned if he was going to clear the table if he didn't have to. He caught the time on the microwave. Might was well get going. He hoped Vejiita would be at their sparring territory this time. He was in the mood to fight.   
  
Walking out the door, he yelled "Goodbye!" to his family, told Goten to be good, and took off.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
"Vejiita? Is that you?"   
  
Well, he was here all right, but was he prepared to train? His back still facing him, Gokou wasn't sure if Vejiita noticed that he had arrived. That was unusual in itself; Vejiita was known to all the Z-Fighters for being alert and on guard. Then there was his attire.   
  
The other Saiyajin slowly turned, first just glancing at him then turned all the way around. "Hey," he said.   
  
Gokou blinked at the greeting, then chose to disregard it. "Do you still want to train today?" he asked, almost reluctantly.   
  
"Yeah, of course. Why the hell else would I be here?" From the distance the two were standing from each other, Gokou couldn't be sure if the smile Vejiita wore was of amusement or a smirk at his idiocy.   
  
He was dumbfounded. Wasn't it obvious? He shrugged. "Ah, well... You're not dressed for training..."   
  
Vejiita glanced down. "Oh. Well, shut up, this is what I fucking felt like wearing today." He suddenly laughed. Gokou saw no reason for laughter; what was funny? "But," he continued, "if you don't want to, I don't care."   
  
"Don't want to what?"   
  
"Spar, dumbass." A bit of a chuckle distorted the end of his sentence. "You seem all uncertain and shit." He brushed some dust off his leg and glanced at Gokou.   
  
Gokou shook his head, beginning to become confused. "No, I was just asking if you wanted to spar this week. Because you haven't for the last two weeks."   
  
Vejiita closed the distance between them. He frowned. "Oh _well_," he snapped irritably. "I'm _here_ now, what's the problem? Let's do it!"   
  
Gokou was silent. _What the hell?_ he thought, bewildered. He was glad Vejiita was here, but what was going on? He wasn't dressed to train, and didn't seem to think that was a problem. And he had successfully turned the situation around to make it seem like it was Gokou's fault for delaying any action. "Vejiita, you feeling okay? Everyone's been saying you've been acting strange...." He regretted his choice of words as soon as he said them. Vejiita had never given a damn about what "everyone" has had to say.   
  
"Fuck everyone."   
  
He was right.   
  
"I've been acting myself! That's all!"   
  
What?   
  
"You heard me. You people piss me off. None of you can mind your own business."   
  
I can see that. You're shouting.   
  
"Maybe thing's have been shitty lately."   
  
Really? With Bulma? What else? What's been going on?   
  
"I'm sick of it. I feel like I'm being suffocated--"   
  
Vejiita cut himself off abruptly. He growled to himself and looked away.   
  
"Vejiita?" Gokou finally allowed himself to speak out loud. Vejiita wasn't as impulsive as he had been when they first met, but there was never any reason to corner him or provoke him.   
  
  
  
Chester let out a defeated sigh and relaxed his shoulders. He could be so dumb sometimes. Why did he say all that crap? And to Kakarotto? It wasn't his business and he certainly didn't really care.   
  
'Vejiita,' he had said. 'Are you feeling okay?'   
  
That was caring. But then he brought up the "everyone." Chester had nothing against Kakarotto's pals. They didn't like him because Mont tried to kill them all, but Chester was willing to put that behind him! Why couldn't the let go?   
  
Then he had to ask himself if he really _did_ feel suffocated here. No, not really. Montgomery might, just a little. Rob and Rip didn't really care. The two have been behaving very well lately – in fact, neither had shown themselves for over six years.   
  
"Vejiita?"   
  
That name again.   
  
Chester shook his head. That's right, you have a role to execute. Fucking relax.   
  
But, it was hard. Mont was being incredibly bothersome, making a ruckus. He couldn't do anything physically – Chester could suppress him just as easily as they could suppress Vejiita – he was just being a nuisance.   
  
He took a deep breath and faced Kakarotto. Would he understand? He considered telling Kakarotto exactly what he had told Craig....   
  
"Kakarotto.." he started calmly. "I don't know. I've just been kinda tired lately."   
  
Kakarotto was silent. The intense attention that was being given to him was nice and unnerving at the same time. He was not used to being paid actual attention. When he was a kid, well, he was a kid, no one listens to kids. Here on Earth, he was ignored because he had proved he could not be trusted. And no one liked him anyway. Damn you, Mont.   
  
"Just tired?" Kakarotto finally said. Chester shrugged.   
  
"No."   
  
After another minute, because Kakarotto wanted to give him time to say whatever he wished to say, he presumed, he said, "Tell me what else?"   
  
Chester sighed and looked away. This was too serious. In the past, whatever was bothering him would be snuffed out by... anything. Craig got him to go on a trip and fuck a girl. And countless times he had drowned himself in alcohol and the drugs the other kids he grew up with made. Tell someone about your problems? That was just an indirect way of asking for shit.   
  
"Nahh..." he murmured, answering the other Saiyajin's question.   
  
Kakarotto took a bold leap. "Vejiita, you said you had stomach pains a while back."   
  
Chester remembered. "I did."   
  
"Are you feeling better?"   
  
He laughed. "Yeah, I'm fine. It comes and goes, find something else to worry about."   
  
He nodded slowly. But Chester could tell that he was not going to find something else to worry about.   
  
"So did you still want to spar?" Chester suggested. He didn't really want to. He didn't think he was much of a fighter – he only purged when he was told and he hated doing it as much as Vejiita. He was a slacker like Craig; the only difference between them that he had _power_. But he was willing to make a fool of himself just get get Kakarotto's mind off of him.   
  
His eyes brightened. Chester smiled to himself. He was great at distractions.   
  
They fought for two hours. They could have gone longer, Chester thought certainly, but his sparring partner seemed to want to take it easy on him. Chester would have said, Hey, don't bother. I don't suck half as bad as I thought! Mont sure beefed me up!   
  
They sat down. Or, Kakarotto did. Chester forced himself to stay standing up. Montgomery, who took control of social issues most of the time, did not sit with anyone. Again, Chester thought to himself, _What a prick!_ Because of Montgomery, Chester had no friends and couldn't sit with the only guy who seemed to like him. Chester liked to sit.   
  
He suddenly stopped his train of thought. He mentally berated himself, _Why the fuck are you beating yourself up about this? These people aren't stupid. They _should_ know the difference between us by now. We're nothing alike, Vejiita, Mont and I. I am nothing like them._   
  
He decided that Vejiita could fend for himself now. He decided that he would be himself -- he would be Chester.   
  
Chester sat down.   
  
  
  
Gokou didn't say anything to Vejiita when he sat down next to him, as if he had done so every time they had concluded a sparring session. All throughout their practice fight, he wondered about the other Saiyajin. He had been laughing at odd points of their conversation at first, then lost his temper, asked to start fighting, and now was sitting next to him, presently in a companionable silence. He decided to take advantage of his behavior.   
  
"Why didn't you wear your usual training clothes?" he said.   
  
Vejiita had been picking at the worn-out threads of his shoelaces. The shoes were Doc Martens, old ones, with plenty of scuffs and chunks taken out of the sole. They looked very comfortable, a far cry from the white boots Vejiita usually donned. "Ah, I don't now. I stopped wearing that armor crap a long time ago, ya know? And this shirt isn't that different from training clothes... Except, that it rips easier and stinks more when it gets sweaty." He wrinkled his nose. "Shit, and I was getting kinda attached to it, too." He laughed.   
  
Gokou nodded and smiled. He supposed it made sense. He wore his training clothes all the time. He just thought of Vejiita stricter than that. "Do you think you'll come next week?"   
  
He shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He continued, "Don't know how it slipped my mind before. Feeling sick doesn't usually bother me. So, sorry about that, I guess."   
  
"You're sorry?" he said without thinking. Vejiita gave him a dirty look.   
  
"That's what I said, isn't it?" he said lowly. Gokou quickly changed the subject. At least Vejiita didn't seem angry that he had isolated his apology; just annoyed.   
  
"Aah... The kids say you and Bulma are having a bit of trouble." Knowing how defensive Vejiita would be now, he tried to bring up the topic as levelly as possible. But Vejiita just smirked. A hate-less smirk.   
  
"Yeah? And?"   
  
It took him a moment to put his concern into words. "Well, how's it going?"   
  
Vejiita shrugged. "It's goin' blah," he told him.   
  
Gokou was at a loss as to how he was supposed to get around _that_ answer. Before he figured anything out, however, Vejiita spoke up.   
  
"Kakarotto, you can say whatever the hell you want to say to me, you know. I ain't gonna bite your head off."   
  
Gokou started to say something, but faltered.   
  
"I mean it." Vejiita stood up. "It's getting late. I'm gonna go home. I guess." He stretched and yawned. "Next Wednesday, then?"   
  
"Uh, yeah. That's right."   
  
  
  
"Vejiita?"   
  
"Yeah..."   
  
"Hey."   
  
"Who is this?"   
  
"Go.. ah, Kakarotto."   
  
Pause.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"I'm here. Why are you calling?" He paused again. "I missed it last week, again, didn't I?" Remorse wobbled at the end of the question.   
  
The Saiyajin on the other line of the telephone let his confusion be heard. "No.. Vejiita, you were there."   
  
He caught himself. "Oh, of course. Slipped my mind. I remember now."   
  
"Are you okay?" He felt as though he had said that phrase too many times.   
  
"Uh huh. Why are you calling?"   
  
"Right!" he exclaimed, " Yeah, I was thinking since last time we met, if you wanted to spar more times a week!"   
  
_More times?_ Vejiita thought doubtfully.   
  
"So how about it?"   
  
"Why?"   
  
Gokou was not discouraged by the less than enthusiastic answer. The skepticism and suspicion was expected. "Why not? Wouldn't you like to train with some besides yourself all the time?"   
  
_What he doesn't know is that I spend more of my time sleeping._ "Sure, I guess." As an afterthought: "I'll be there. When?"   
  
"How about Wednesdays, still, and Saturdays? Same time, at one." Vejiita agreed and hung up. Today was Friday. He didn't mind at all that they would spar more times a week. That was okay. He just didn't want to set anyone up for more disappointments; could he trust himself to be on time? And what about these characters mentioned in the letter? Did they ever follow his plans?   
  
"Who was on the phone, Dad?" Vejiita hadn't noticed Trunks come into the room behind him. He answered, Kakarotto, and said nothing more.   
  
  
  
Chester appeared agan before dinner that night. Trunks' question had caught his interested for some reason. Maybe it was because Trunks was the closest person he could relate to, even though Trunks was a few years younger.   
  
He sat in the empty seat at the table, across from Trunks' mother. He had to give Vejiita credit for hooking up with her – Montgomery had, predictably, been no help at all and generally discouraged any relationship Vejiita was trying to scrounge up with the Earth lady. But, after the shit with Buu, as Chester thought of it, Vejiita stopped taking almost any interest in his family. He got along with the kids okay, pretty much the same as before, but everybody had gotten their hopes up that he'd be nicer after dying... a second time.   
  
But with Bulma, Vejiita had made it clear that things were over. It was unofficial, in some ways. He still lived at Capsule Corp, in the lonely room he had inhabited when she was ill, and took care of the kids, respectively. But they were loose friends at the most.   
  
Chester was a bit pissed at that. She was a hottie and for once gave Vejiita credit for doing something _decent_ by himself. Chester wasn't into commitment. Besides her good looks, Bulma was hardly his kind of woman. She's too smart, he thought. But siince he was still allowed to live with her, he consoled himself with stolen glimpses. He smirked to himself. She had no idea.   
  
He said, "I'm training with Kakarotto twice a week now," in a gruff voice, which was supposedly characteristic of Vejiita.   
  
"Is that what you were talking to him on the phone about?" spoke up Trunks.   
  
"Yep," he replied, grinning.   
  
Bulma raised an eyebrow and took a small bite of food. "Are you sure you can remember to go twice?" Chester smirked a toothy smirk at her. She hadn't taken the break up as easily and Vejiita and the rest had. After all, she wasn't the one blacking out all the time. She couldn't understand his reasons. "Chichi called and she mentioned that you haven't been going all the time."   
  
Chester shrugged. "That's none of your business. It's not like I have to go, anyway. It's optional."   
  
"It's rude."   
  
"Bite me."   
  
She didn't reply to that. Chester felt like laughing. She took everything so seriously! The girls he had grown up with _would_ have bitten him, good and hard! He grinned and concentrated on his meal. A good meal. Prepared from a box and straight from the microwave, it was Chester's kind of dinner. Even though he didn't think himself as 'Saiyajin', he did have to keep up with Mont and Vejiita's monstrous appetites. He would make sure there would be enough for leftovers. He loved midnight snacking.   
  
Bulma, short-tempered and unhinged, excused herself from the table, saying she had a meeting at work to attend.   
  
"In the middle of the night?" Chester said.   
  
"It's the evening, Vejiita. It's not that strange for me to have evening meetings. You'd know that if you ever came downstairs."   
  
"Hey! I'm here now," he objected.   
  
Bulma shook her head in exasperation. "Just watch the kids." She left.   
  
Chester did just that. For ten minutes, he leaned back in his chair and watched as Trunks got out a carton of ice cream, their plates of instant-pasta left untouched on the counter, and told Bra that she couldn't have any ice cream. The little girl screamed and hollered and called her brother a jerk until she turned to her father.   
  
"Trunks, give you sister some ice cream."   
  
"Do you want any?"   
  
"No." He was still working on supper.   
  
By the time the kids had eaten quite a few bowls of ice cream, Chester told them to do whatever they wanted. He didn't want anyting to do with a couple hyper-active kids. "It's not like you have to do anything tomorrow. Just don't set anything on fire, okay? I don't want your mom yelling at me." He winked. Trunks didn't know why his father had been acting shifty lately, but as long as he was in a good mood, he couldn't care less. "Bring your sister," he bellowed as Trunks dashed out of the kitchen.   
  
  
  
Vejiita turned up on his doorstep the next morning. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and his hair was ruffled more than usual – he didn't look like he had gotten much sleep last night. He let himself in without saying a word to Gokou, and sat down at the table, holding his head up on the heals of his hands.   
  
"Vejiita?" Gokou ventured after a moment. He thanked Christ that neither Chichi nor Goten were here this morning; they had left early to do school shopping, Chichi wanting to get ample supplies before the Back To School Sale rush. She would have liked to have Vejiita here as much as Goten enjoyed shopping.   
  
He finally looked at Gokou. He gave him a crooked smile and chuckled sadly. "I am so fucking burnt," he told him.   
  
"What happened to you?" he asked, slightly concerned. "You're not acting yourself." Vejiita seemed okay – he was speaking coherently and didn't seem to be _too_ upset – but what did he mean by "burnt"?   
  
But Vejiita just shook his head in reply. He didn't come here for counseling. Kakarotto was just the only guy who got along with him.   
  
Chester had gotten a letter that evening after sentencing the kids to a night of fun. It had said simply:   
  
_Hey you bastard. I'm back. Get your ass over here._   
  
He knew who it was immediately. Without a word of departure for the kids (he didn't know where the hell they were anyway) the blasted off into the cool autumn sky in search of the kinky ki-signature that belonged to the one and only Craig.   
  
He had gotten himself – through sources Chester had no desire to learn of – a run-down apartment in the projects of a New England city. He let himself in through the fire-escape window, and he and Craig had celebrated their reunion with spliffs and speed. Craig, his speech slurred and barely intelligible, had told Chester of his quest to Earth. He had been in some sort of jail administrated by Freeza's business, and only two years ago had the prison received word that Freeza was dead and gone – as with jail funding. With no one to punish them or to pay their debts, the wardens let the prisoners go. It was a stupid act, by any standards, letting criminals and hard-core drug addicts out into space, but they couldn't keep them locked up any more.   
  
Besides, how many thugs knew how to operate a space ship?   
  
One did, and he found his only friend who had enough sense to keep _away_ from bad people and take refuge on a planet that had not yet taken part in the vicious ways of outer space.   
  
"And here I fucking am," he concluded, falling out the window onto the fire escape. He and Chester laughed.   
  
Chester had woken up at the break of dawn, groggy and disoriented. He shoved Craig's limp body off his, and stumbled home. Where he received the bawling out of a lifetime. _Where the hell were you? You can't just leave two children at home in the middle of the night! They set the living room on fire, Vejiita! Trunks can't take care of a child, you're lucky Bra isn't lost or kidnapped or dead or anything!_   
  
Chester, too sick to defend himself (he was guilty anyway) simply turned heel and headed off in the direction of Kakarotto's house. The other Saiyajin would be much less likely to get him in trouble.   
  
"I'm okay," he murmured, his eyes elsewhere. "And I am so acting myself. You're mistaken."   
  
His chin slipped from his hands and he nearly smashed his head against the table. He recovered from his brush with death and said out of the blue, "I hope I'm still welcome there."   
  
"Where?"   
  
"Capsule."   
  
"Capsule Corp?"   
  
"Yeah, that's the one. Damn..."   
  
"Why?" asked Gokou. "What happened?"   
  
Again he shook his head. "Screwed up, I guess. Don't worry, she'll let me back in." Chester was certain of himself.   
  
Gokou grabbed the unsteady Saiyajin's chin and forced him to look at him. Burnt. Not lack of sleep. "Vejiita, what did you do last night?"   
  
"Met up with an old friend."   
  
"An old friend?"   
  
"Yeh." Vejiita looked thoughtful for a moment, before wrenching his head from Gokou's grip. "I wonder if he'd like you. You're kinda.. nice..."   
  
_Nice?_ Gokou thought. This was so bizarre. First Vejiita coming here early in the morning. He had obviously gotten kicked out by Bulma after a rough night – easy to decipher by his appearence. And now, paying him a compliment? And so flippantly, at that. What kind of 'nice' did he mean? Vejiita was both blunt and tightlipped, making a conversation with him frustrating at the least.   
  
But, Gokou didn't even get a chance to pry more information from the difficult Saiyajin. Right then, Vejiita passed out on his dining room table.   
  
  
  
  
  



	7. INTELLECT

**

Rhyme & Reason 6:  
[ I N T E L L E C T ]

**  
  
  
  


Gokou, knowing that Chichi could return at any moment and wouldn't like to see Vejiita unconscious in her house, had hastily carried the sick Saiyajin to the sofa in the make-shift rec room, Gohan's room before he moved the university campus. The rec room, like the Playstation, he taken a lot of begging for Chichi, who had wanted a guest room, to comply.   
  
He looked back at Vejiita. He was sprawled with one arm and one leg over the end of the couch. He looked relaxed, but ever so often a tremor would run through his body and cause him as little as a twitch or as much as a mild, short spasm of his entire being. Gokou pressed his lips together.   
  
_This is not Vejiita,_ he thought.   
  
Vejiita did not come to the person on whom he had declared eternal war when he got booted from his house. Vejiita rarely complimented him; the most praise he had received him was a subtle nod, or, a thumbs-up, once.   
  
Vejiita doesn't have old friends, routinely miss appointments scheduled long before-hand, or appear inadequately attired, or sit by him after a workout.   
  
He was sick now, he knew, watching him sleep restlessly. How long had he been sick? Was it more than stomach pains and forgetfulness?   
  
  
  
Chester had passed out with the body and left Vejiita lost in a dark, drug-induced world of unconsciousness.   
  
He had nightmares, those that come with this sort of obliviousness. Horrendous, suffocating blobs of formless color, sudden flashes of light that made his head pound. And the screams – he didn't know whose screams they were, but he was afraid – deathly afraid – that they were his.   
  
He woke up what seemed like years later. Time, he knew, was unmeasurable, and about as dependable as most other people he knew. He did not dwell on that forsaken concept. Instead, he tried to figure out where precisely he was. He explored his surroundings without moving from his spot. He was not home, he knew that. Home didn't smell like this. It was morning. It _had_ been mid-afternoon. He knew it was morning because bright sunlight was shining through the windows, birds chirping. Capsule Corp. few windows and no birds.   
  
_The others,_ he thought briefly before something else invaded his senses.   
  
Kakarotto.   
  
Kakarotto's house. Oh no.   
  
  
  
Gokou crouched down and studied Vejiita's face. He had a nervous, bewildered expression, one that he had never seen on him before. He almost smiled; the expression was so uncanny – and dare he say cute? – on the wild Saiyajin. He would have smiled, but he looked so scared, too.   
  
He stared up at him, paralyzed on his spot on the sofa, silent and waiting for him to speak. He granted his silent plea. "Vejiita. You came here this morning. What happened?"   
  
No change in his expression. Gokou supposed that was a bad way to start out.   
  
Vejiita started to pull himself out from the lumpy old sofa. Impulsively, Gokou helped him out. He heard no complaint or refusal of the assistance during or afterwards. Vejiita just sat on the couch staring at his hands. "Hungry?"   
  
He shook his head.   
  
"I'll go get you something."   
  
"No, don't. I'm not hungry."   
  
Gokou relaxed. "Okay..."   
  
"Your wife's not home," Vejiita commented after a period of uneasy silence.   
  
"Nope. Took Goten shopping." Vejiita raised an eyebrow at the response and looked out the window. It was a small window rather high up on the wall. It was a view of tree branches and a couple birds here and there. "Why?"   
  
He didn't answer. After another minute, he said, "So... I came here this morning?" Gokou nodded. When he didn't ask any more questions, Gokou volunteered information.   
  
'You came here about an hour ago not looking... that well. You said that you were with an old friend or something. That you screwed up... You weren't sure if you were welcome back home."   
  
Vejiita's face hardened. "Dammit." He stood up. "I guess I had better be getting home... I don't think your woman likes me that much."   
  
"She's not here."   
  
"I know that!" he yelled. He took a stop forward and swerved around Gokou, who stood in his way. "I am going home," he told him. "I'll see you.. Tomorrow." Gokou remembered that today was Friday.   
  
"If you can come," he ventured evenly.   
  
"I'll be here. That women can't be _too_ pissed at me. Would you move it?" Gokou nodded and stepped out of his way. Vejiita let himself out and Gokou followed his departing ki signature until he was closer to Capsule Corp. than his house.   
  
Gokou suddenly heard a loud bang and saw a flash of black streak down the hallway. A moment later, Goten's door slammed shut. "Gokou, I'm home!" he heard Chichi yell. Vejiita had left just at the nick of time. "Sorry I'm so late," she said, coming down the hall after Goten, though with a bit more dignity. "But I stopped at Bulma's house after we went shopping. She was a bit busy though – cleaning up her house."   
  
"What happened?"   
  
"Trunks and Bra destroyed it." She noted Gokou's surprised look. "Bulma had to go out last night and asked Vejiita to watch them. And of course he didn't!" She threw up her arms and walk out of the small spare room in which Vejiita had been resting. "He took off as soon as she was gone and those kids trashed the place! Goten is lucky _he_ wasn't spending the night over there.." she added, seething at the thought of her youngest son participating in such vandalism of her best friend's home.   
  
"Trunks and Bra did that? That's not like them."   
  
Chichi snorted. "You'd be surprised at what kids'll do," she told him knowingly, "when the house is empty and no one is watching them. Those two are good kids, but they're still kids."   
  
  
  
Bulma found Vejiita in the recently refurnished living room. One would never be able to tell that the left wall was once completely aflame. He was sitting on the new dark blue sofa, one ankle crossed over his knee, placidly reading a book. Bulma had never seen him read before, at least not leisurely. She knew he could read fine, but to sit down with a novel...   
  
"Morning, Vejiita," she said.   
  
"Hmm..."   
  
He didn't even look up at her, just kept reading.   
  
"What are you reading?" He glanced up at her. His expression was startling for Vejiita. His eyes were open and inquisitive, the usual hostile and hard look gone, without a trace. One eyebrow was quirked up in a sort of questioning way.   
  
"Umm, some sort of mystery.." he said off-handedly, pressing his lips together and glancing back at the page. Bulma waited for more of an answer, thinking that he had glanced at the page to find the title, but then realized he had started reading again.   
  
She stepped in front of him. "Let me just look here.." she murmured, grabbing the corner of the cover and curling it so she could read the title. Vejiita continued reading as if she wasn't even there, even moving his hand up so she could see better. "Hm. Clive Cussler."   
  
"He rocks my world," Vejiita said quietly, a small smile appearing on his face for a mere moment. He glanced up at her briefly before becoming serious again. His eyes, glued to the small print of the book, started moving. He was right back to reading.   
  
This was curious. Vejiita was never one for conversation, but it was his behavior that was catching her attention. Composed, modest, and a timid approach at humor.   
  
She smiled softly, remembering the morning two weeks ago when he had come home after his evening out. She had been so angry at him – she had immediately put him to work, telling him to carry out all the lumber that Trunks had brought in (he had been planning to make some kind of fort in the kitchen) and to drag the incinerated couch out to the dump. Then she had him accompany her to the mall to buy a new sofa, then kicked him out of the house the rest of the day to help the new, hired babysitter keep an eye on Trunks and Bra.   
  
Vejiita had complied to all of this in his usual silent and sulky manner. And without a word of protest.   
  
This normally would have worried her but she was too pleased at him following her directions with no complaint and too angry to really think straight. She thought back later about just how odd it was, but never brought it up. Maybe Vejiita felt guilty about leaving and letting the kids run amok. Whatever it was, she didn't dare mention it to him. She didn't know how he'd take it and didn't trust herself to handle his reaction.   
  
She bent the cover of the book back more to read the title. "Hmm.." she murmured mostly to herself. "I used to have this book."   
  
Vejiita's eyes snapped up. "Oh, yes.. I got it out of your room, hope you don't mind." His gaze drifted back to the page but continued talking. "I needed something good to read besides those pornography magazines. I don't get the chance to read that much."   
  
"Porn magazines?" Bulma repeated. He held her gaze sincerely.   
  
He nodded. "Yes. But don't worry, they're not mine." He denied owning them quickly as if he didn't want to upset her. So thoughtful. "They're just stacked up there in the closet, I haven't bothered to toss them out." He raised his eyebrows and shrugged and went back to reading.   
  
Bulma sat down next to him, reading over his shoulder. After a few moments, she asked, "I didn't know you liked to read."   
  
"I do," he said. "I've always liked reading."   
  
She nodded. "Oh." She noticed he was silently staring at her. Finally he sighed, dog-eared the page he was on, and stood up.   
  
"Do you need something?" he asked her.   
  
She was taken aback. "Uh.. No, I'm just curious..." She trailed off. Vejiita nodded and narrowed his eyes, his attention focused totally on her. "I've just never seen you read before. I didn't think you cared to read books. Especially a book by a human," she added, recalling his normal distain of almost everything that had to do with humans. He crossed his arms and glanced back at the book.   
  
"But it's a really good book." As an afterthought, "Is this about me taking it without asking?"   
  
"Oh, no!"   
  
"Because I understand. It's an intriguing book, and I'd like to finish it, but I promise to give it back when I'm done. I'm sure you'd like to reread it."   
  
Bulma shook her head, baffled if not somewhat amused at this behavior. "No, you keep the book, Vejiita."   
  
He frowned, but not at her giving the book to him. He pressed his lips together again and looked away. "I see," he muttered pensively. To Bulma he said, "I'm afraid you have me mixed up with someone else."   
  
"Excuse me?" _Is he messing around?_ Bulma thought incredulously.   
  
He smiled a bit to himself, as if he were entertained by a peculiar thought. "I," he began, "am not Vejiita." He flashed her a mysterious wink, then whipped around, picking up his book on the way out of the living room. Bulma followed him silently until they got into the kitchen, where she reaching out and held his elbow. He froze and turned around, waiting with polite impatience for her to let go. "Yes?" he said.   
  
"You..." she started, eyeing him suspiciously. Was he joking? Was this some prank he was pulling in order to set her off? She shook her head and frowned. The perpetually concerned expression etched faintly on Vejiita's face irked her somewhat. "Are you going to train with Gokou tomorrow?" she said instead.   
  
Vejiita looked surprised. "No, I wasn't planning to. Why?"   
  
She released him. His arm fell gracefully to his side and he seemed a bit more at ease. "But you've been going so well lately. Twice a week right on schedule." He stared at her inexpressively, but it was not the same purposely stoic scowl that distinguished him from everybody else. Then he nodded slowly.   
  
"Still," he said sensibly, "I'm not planning to go tomorrow." He set his book on the table, opened up the fridge, and submerged a moment later with an apple. He took a bite and shrugged at her. "I'm sorry, but it's just not my thing. I don't enjoy it at all."   
  
  
  
He was still sitting at the table, finishing up his Clive Cussler novel when Trunks came through the door and dumped his backpack heavily on the table. His father did not flinch; just moved a backpack strap that had fallen on his book out of the way when he was about to turn the page. A moment later, a disgruntled Trunks pulled a chair out and rummaged through his bag.   
  
Trunks glanced at his father. He was concentrating on the book, apparently not yet having noticed the boy's presence. That in itself was not unusual; Vejiita wasn't known for shelling out his undivided attention to most individuals. His eyebrows were raised slightly, as if in he was called to attention, and at the same time pensive. "Good book, Dad?" Trunks quipped. He glanced up, nodded aloofly in affirmation, then glanced down again. He looked a bit troubled and then pushed his chair out and headed to the refrigerator. Trunks listened to him forage through the fridge for a moment more before he went back to his homework.   
  
It was a Friday afternoon, and he wasn't sure that if his mother should walk into the kitchen this very moment, she would squeal with delight of her son doing his homework so promptly or voice her suspicions of her son's responsible behavior.   
  
But that it was Friday also meant that his Algebra teacher gave his students plenty of weekend homework. He had plans to go to the movies and teach Goten how to play more video games before their mothers tossed any distracting devices out.   
  
He noticed that his father had paused behind him, apparently reading over his shoulder. Slowly his hand reached out and he pressed his index finger to an equation in his notebook. Trunks glanced up at him curiously. Vejiita appeared to be thinking. He took another bite of the apple, swallowed, then spoke, in a deep, monotone voice, "That's wrong." He paused, swallowing the rest of the apple and continued. "You added the variable to both sets of numbers on this side of the equation. You're only supposed to do it to the ones also with a variable. You've made the same mistake a few times, you, ah, might want to check that."   
  
Trunks frowned. He spent devoted his entire biology class hour doing these problems. "This one, here?" he asked, taking advantage of his father's helpful disposition. Vejiita nodded. He sat down next to him, hauling his chair nearer to his son, and set his book and partially-eaten apple aside.   
  
"Yes, and you didn't do this word problem right either, I can tell just by the weird way this equation is set up," he added, glancing briefly at Trunks' textbook. "I can show you a fool-proof short cut for doing these," he added, a ghost of a smile brightening his serious features.   
  
"Oh yeah?" Trunks responded, keen to the idea of getting the work done quickly with a guaranteed A. "Like how?"   
  
Vejiita smiled and picked out a random problem and began explaining.   
  
  
  
"I know an insane amount of mathematics," Vejiita explained after being confronted. It was Saturday morning and after Trunks had hounded his mother for money to see a movie in town, she had retaliated by demanding that at least _some_ of his homework be completed first. She had surprised her by brandishing neat and tidy columns of math problems, and shocked her to the core by getting them all successively correct. He persuaded her that he did not cheat. Dad helped me, he told her. "You'd be surprised at how much I know," he continued.   
  
"How much _do_ you know?" Bulma countered. Vejiita raised an eyebrow, almost successfully hiding a look of excitement.   
  
"By any chance," he said slyly, "have you saved any of your old high school or college textbooks? I doubt any of my old books are in any condition to be read."   
  
"Old books?"   
  
He nodded. "From school, as a kid." He paused. "Well, they're not _mine_, but no one else really looks at them. I'll go try to find one that's in one piece." He went upstairs and returned a few minutes later with a hard-back textbook under his arm. The entire thing looked like it was once water-logged, and half of the back cover was ripped off. He dropped it on the kitchen table and opened it up.   
  
Vejiita's old math book caught Bulma's attention. She slid the book away from him and flipped through it, gazing at the long and sophisticated equations that you'd be lucky to catch sight of in a college level textbook. She gazed up at him. "You learned these as a _kid_?"   
  
He shook his head. "No, not exactly." He picked at a hangnail. "I was never really kid. I came here and I automatically knew all this. I guess I'm just smart." He dropped his arm. "Someone else learned all this stuff when he was younger. The situation was, back then, purge, clean, or learn rotationally. They tried to make you a well rounded person."   
  
"Did they?" Bulma murmured, still paging through the book.   
  
Vejiita shrugged. "Sure. I know everything they don't."   
  
  
  
Bulma found him later outside, asleep and curled up in a lawn chair, clutching a hardback to his chest. She hesitated to wake him. He must have slipped out of the house with Trunks while she was still drooling over his math book. Finally, she tapped him on his shoulder.   
  
He woke peacefully, his eyes opening slowly to focus first on nothing then rolling up to look at her. He usually woke up with a jump, startled, all traces of sleep gone from his face within seconds. This afternoon he still looked drowsy after being roused.   
  
"Yeah?" he said softly, not uncurling or sitting up.   
  
She smiled. "Why are you outside?"   
  
He sat up and yawned, the book sliding down onto his lap. "I don't like spending too much time inside," he confided. "I just feel... trapped after a while." He held her gaze evenly.   
  
"I see. Are you still not going to spar with Gokou?"   
  
He shook his head. "No, I already said I wasn't. I don't like fighting or sparring at all."   
  
Bulma sighed, beginning to become exasperated with him again and feeling guilty about it because he wasn't being mean or anything. "Vejiita, _why not_? You've been going so well and have seemed to enjoy yourself. Why do you suddenly want to quit? What' wrong with you?"   
  
Vejiita stood up. He wasn't angry. "Like I've said, I don't like fighting, and never have." He paused, but was not finished. He appeared to be thinking something over.   
  
"You said yesterday that you weren't Vejiita," she reminded him.   
  
"Correct. I am not," he confirmed with hesitance. "I prefer to go by the name Rhys, but you can my alias, Vejiita, if it's more comfortable for you. Rhys Williamson Schultz is the name I gave myself, fifteen years ago, in the Room of Spirit and Time. My first memories of exsistance are of that room. With that strange boy with long hair. He insisted on fighting, however, so I left till later.   
  
"But I was often curious, so whenever that boy – another Trunks, right? – and the other guys decided to call a recess, I allowed myself to come out. These break times were short, unfortunately, and not as relaxing as they should have been. Breaks were only there to recover from yesterday's beatings and prepare for tomorrow's. I was in a constant stage of ache."   
  
He paused again, glancing at her to make sure she was still paying attention. "Besides the pain, I didn't mind that Room too much." He glanced around. "It was big, wasn't it?" Bulma didn't answer; she didn't think he was really talking to her. He glanced back at the Capsule Corp. building, then at the territory around it. "A bit like outside, here." He stretched salubriously and continued.   
  
"Those Cell Games. Fascinating. I loved every second of it – I'm not a fighter myself but I do enjoy the skill of the Martial Arts. I couldn't take my eyes off the fighters, not for a second. When it was all over.... The other were particularly depressed. Montgomery – he learned that strength wasn't everything. And Vejiita himself – well..." He trailed off, uncertain.   
  
Bulma pressed, transfixed by this very strange story. "Yes, ah, Rhys... What about Vejiita?"   
  
He sighed. "He actually tried to fight, I mean, he fought with his heart, not just to survive another day, while Cell was a big issue. That - that Kakarotto fellow died and his son defeated that monster, with almost no assistance.... I don't know what he and Montgomery were really thinking, but it just brought them crashing down.   
  
"He whispered to himself, 'I will never fight again,' and I took over."   
  
  
  
_Note: "Rhys" is pronounced "Reese"_


	8. EGOTRIP

**

Rhyme & Reason 7:  
[ E G O T R I P ] 

**

  
  
  
Rhys was caught off-guard when two arms circled his neck and gave him a tight squeeze. His reaction unruffled at least, he turned and looked at the man who had given him what he had learned through years of silent observation to be called a hug. Never having been a man of contact, nor one to be easily offended, Rhys didn't holler at the stranger for touching him or bother to return the embrace.   
  
"Hey, pal. Whazzup?"   
  
He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked away. "Nothing, really." Vejiita and Chester's friend was too outlandish for Rhys' own tastes. Reserved and generally quiet people were the only kind of people he would dare call a friend. Craig was rowdy and mismatched and loud. What a terrible type of person. All the same, Rhys raised his eyes to meet Craig's, keeping his head bowed and arms crossed standoffish across his chest. He'd be polite to this monstrosity, but he never said he'd be friendly.   
  
Craig jerked his head, motioning behind him. The purple-tinted sunglasses he wore flashed in the mid-day sun. "See that?" Rhys nodded. "That's our trunk. It's got all our junk in it. I thought you'd want it back."   
  
"No, I don't."   
  
"Well, too damn bad. I don't have any place to put it in my apartment."   
  
"I guess I can hold on to it for you," he said, not wanting to cause a scene.   
  
Craig studied him peculiarly. He ran a hand through his hair, which was growing quite long and unruly and hanging in his eyes. "Help me carry this inside," he told Rhys, shoving the sunglasses to the top of his head. Rhys complied silently and walked around to the other side of the massive trunk and helped Craig carry it inside.   
  
He dropped it in the entry way. Rhys looked back at him quizzically, then set down his side of the bulky luggage. Craig sat down on the it and stared up at him. "You're different."   
  
He shrugged. "I'm pretty normal, actually." The other shook his head.   
  
"You know what I mean."   
  
Shifting his weight, he replied, "Yes, I suppose I do. What does it matter?"   
  
"Who are you?" Craig jumped up and studied him closely, the tip of their noses almost touching. "Because, you _are_ different from the others."   
  
Rhys raised an eyebrow in confusion. After a moment he seemed to realize what Craig was talking about and nodded. "That's right... you do know about us."   
  
"Yep. Now, who the fuck are you? Answer me."   
  
He stared at him a moment in silence. Craig was still leaning close to him. "No.." he said uncertainly, frowning and tilting his head away from him.   
  
Craig jumped back. "Fine. I don't care about you either." He crouched in front of the huge trunk and unlatched the rusty clasps with a bit of difficulty. He paused, thinking. "You think you can still fit all the way here, pal?"   
  
Rhys was taken aback. "Uhh.. No."   
  
He grinned. "You certainly could I think! Eh, maybe we'll try later."   
  
"What are you getting into?" Rhys asked, curiosity crumbling his desire to have this stranger out of his house.   
  
Craig beamed up at him. "You know me. I can't keep a damn thing straight in my head. I don't know what's yours and what's mine. You need to help me sort all this crap out." He heaved the lid back. Inside was a hideous mess of old, torn clothes, wrinkled and smudged paper and drawings, a few pages and covers of books here and there, half a dozen spoons, some bullet shells, a broken dart board. Rhys stared, appalled, at the mess. "Well!" Craig snapped. "Get the hell down here, I didn't drag this thing all the way here for nothing!"   
  
Rhys joined Craig on the floor but what hesitant to touch anything in the trunk. "None of this is mine... I don't want to go through it."   
  
"I don't mind." He glanced at him sidelong. "And Chester won't either."   
  
"Vejiita would. For sure."   
  
"He doesn't have to know."   
  
Rhys, who was balancing on his toes, leaned back and rested his back against the wall. "Forget it."   
  
Craig slouched. "Well, I can't do it alone." He stared at the mess within the trunk. "You like golf?   
  
"It's okay."   
  
He plunged his arm into the trunk almost up to the elbow, divulged a video cassette. "Where's the TV box?"   
  
"That way," He pointing. Craig grabbed his outstretched arm and dragged him to the living room, where he popped in the tape and shoved Rhys onto the couch to watch.   
  
  
  
Which was where Gokou found them a few hours later.   
  
Bulma, concerned more than ever over "Rhys", had called Gokou the next morning to ask him to come over. She wasn't quite sure what to make of this ordeal and was quite certain that Gokou would be able to supply her with some insight, considering the time he spent the Vejiita every week. She rarely saw him much anymore. Their schedules simply did not mesh.   
  
Unfortunately, Gokou was out, according to Goten. "Waiting for Vejiita-San. But I'll give him your message when he gets back."   
  
"Oh.. I don't think Vejiita's going to meet Son-Kun today, Goten."   
  
"Uh huh. Dammit--! Oh, I'm sorry Bulma-San... I just died."   
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"Oh, I'm playing this great new game! I'm winning–!" He was cut off by a muffled voice on his end of the line. It sounding vaguely like, "No, you are not!"   
  
"It that Trunks, Goten?"   
  
"Uh.. yes..." Bulma sighed. She said good-bye and hung up, knowing it was next to impossible to talk to those boys when they were in the middle of playing a racing Playstation game.   
  
But, she must have been lucky that day, for Gokou did come over at her request.   
  
He recognized that this wasn't "Vejiita" immediately. It was the over-all air around him. Usually Vejiita maintained a dark atmosphere about himself, presumably to ward off unwanted attention from those around him. Now, slouched and quite unkept, half laying and half sitting on Bulma's new couch, the Saiyajin could have been described as anything as dark.   
  
When he finally noticed Gokou's presence in the living room, he craned his neck around, his eyes brighter than usual and swallowing up his image. The crease between his eyebrows wasn't there because of a scowl; if anything, the expression on his face was a mixture of annoyance and a laid-back "hey and whatever, just be nice" look. But, when it seemed to register who was standing at the living room door frame, he grinned.   
  
"Hey, there. Carwreck, right?" he asked in a lilting voice.   
  
Gokou blinked. "Um.. no... It's Kakarotto.. That's what you call me."   
  
He winked. "Damn straight." He turned back around to study the television.   
  
"Vejiita.... are you watching golf?"   
  
"Best sport out there," another voice howled. Gokou took a few tentative steps forward, peering over the back of the couch, not sure what to expect sitting there with Vejiita. He was laying horizontally on the sofa, one foot just happening to rest on Vejiita lap while the other foot curled under his knee. Vejiita didn't seem to be the least bit bothered. His head was resting on his palm of his hand. He slowly rose his eyes – slightly bloodshot and circled by dark skin – to meet Gokou's. "You heard me."   
  
"Golf?" he repeated dumbly. Vejiita's couch buddy didn't respond, just stretched and shifted his position so he was on his side facing the televison. Vejiita, however, stood.   
  
"We like golf," he said, shrugging, leaning down to put Craig's foot, which had fallen off the sofa when he rose, back on the sofa. "Got a problem with that?" he snapped.   
  
"N-no, I don't--"   
  
He laughed. "Hey, I was just joking. Remember? I'm a nice guy." He pointed to the couch. "But he's an idiot. Watch out." Gokou heard a yell of protest.   
  
"What the hell are you talking about... Hey, that blond dude is gunna hit one on the green."   
  
"Really?" Vejiita glanced behind him to watch the white dot fly across a cloudless blue sky and land near a flag. "He's good, isn't he?"   
  
"Yeh.."   
  
Vejiita turned back to Gokou and shrugged. "Why are you here, by the way?"   
  
"Oh.. Goten told me Bulma called and wanted me to come over here." He shrugged. "I probably would have come anyway.."   
  
"Well. Good to have you."   
  
"Be quiet!" hollered the guy on the couch.   
  
Gokou glanced at Vejiita. "Is that your buddy?"   
  
"Yep."   
  
"The one who got you in trouble a few weeks ago?"   
  
"The one and only."   
  
"Hi, I'm Craig." A hand waved over the back of the couch.   
  
"Yeah, hi," Gokou said, as kindly as he could. He wasn't sure about this guy; he didn't seem _too_ bad, but then again Vejiita seemed to be good friends with him. To Vejiita he said, "Do you know where Bulma is?"   
  
He shook his head. "Negative. No idea." He paused. "Why?"   
  
"Well, Goten told me she called and sounded worried and wanted me to come over."   
  
"Worried, eh? Well I dunno about this 'Goten' fella, but everything here is snazzy. Huh, Craigie?"   
  
"I'm kinda hungry."   
  
Vejiita appeared to think about that for a moment. "Yeah, me too." He looking longingly over at the kitchen. "I wish I could cook, damn am I hungry."   
  
"Go get me somethin' to eat," said Craig, his eyes fixed on the old golf recording. Vejiita frowned.   
  
"No, you leech. Go home and eat your own food." Vejiita walked over to the trunk left in the hallway and kicked it so the front was facing him.   
  
"There's no food at my house," Craig complained, turning around and fixing a glare on Vejiita's retreating back. "All that's there is a pepper plant and a stack of CDs."   
  
"Eat the peppers."   
  
"No!" Craig looked like he had just been slapped across the face. "His name is Larry and I won't eat him!" He vaulted himself over the back of the couch. "Please? Just a few chicky nuggets."   
  
"Craig, no. I don't want to cook for you."   
  
"Just one? I'll make it myself."   
  
"_Fine!_ Cripes..." He crouched in front of the huge trunk and lifted the lid with some obvious effort. Craig gave a "whoop" of joy and ran to the kitchen.   
  
Gokou laughed at the entire scenario, the followed Vejiita. Craig must be a really good friend to pester him so much and not get screamed at. "Is this yours?" he asked, motioning to the trunk. "I nearly tripped over it coming in."   
  
Vejiita laughed. "Sorry about that, I'll move it." He grabbed one handle and dragged it into the living room. Craig still hadn't returned from the kitchen. He unlatched it and had a very different reaction to what was inside. He beamed. "Yeah, all my old stuff, cool. Craigie, all our junk is here!"   
  
"No shit." The answer was muffled and distracted.   
  
Vejiita continued to murmur sounds of delight and he started heaving junk out of the trunk onto the floor. Gokou wasn't quite certain what he saw in this assortment of garbage and odd trinkets. Almost as if hearing his thoughts, Vejiita craned his head back and gave him a strange, crooked smile. "Yeah, isn't it sorta sad that my entire life's belongings consists of mostly blood-stained clothes and crumpled papers? I think it's sad. Hey!" At the exclamation, Vejiita pulled out from the bottom of the trunk a horrendous light turquoise T-shirt. It was the gaudiest thing Gokou had ever laid eyes on. On the front of the pale green-blue T-shirt were printed three foreign words in light pink. On the back was another unfamiliar square-looking pink symbol. He grinned at Gokou. "My fave shirt! I thought it was gone forever!" He gave it a quick, fierce hug before whipping off his dark gray shirt and yanking the newly-found one over his head. He stood proudly and modeled for Gokou. It clung to his body tightly, as if were a few size too small.   
  
Gokou raised his eyebrows, amused, to say the least. "How do I look?" prompted Vejiita.   
  
"Dashing," he snickered, humoring Vejiita. He beamed. "What's it say on the front?"   
  
"Girls. Girls. Girls," he said, grinning. He turned around and pointed to the back. "Number one!"   
  
"What?" a voice suddenly hollered from in the kitchen. "You found the girls-girls-girls shirt?" Craig stalked up to him and studied the front of his shirt. Gokou noticed he closed one eye and squinted the other to be able to read it clearly. "You bastard, that is _mine_!"   
  
"Whatever." Vejiita grabbed his head and shoved him back, knocking the sunglasses off his forehead "It was on my side of the trunk."   
  
"Fine." Craig came back and shoved over. Vejiita stumbled back a step and let Craig throw stuff on the floor. He caught Gokou's eye and shrugged, as if to say, 'Well, that's Craigie for ya.'   
  
But something else had Gokou's attention. "Uh.. Vejiita.." he pointed behind him. Smoke was flowing into the living room from the kitchen, staining the walls and making the air hard to breathe.   
  
"Oh fuck," he murmured jumping up and running into the kitchen. Gokou followed, nervously wondering what a friend of Vejiita's could possibly concoct.   
  
"Craigie!" Vejiita screamed, coughing. Gokou caught sight of him near the microwave, where he was trying remove something that was smoking and looking incredibly hot. "What in hell did you do?" he cried, finally dropping it on the ground.   
  
"Oops. I was trying to cook a chicky nugget."   
  
"For how long did you put it in the microwave?" He opened a drawer, withdrew a fork, and stabbed the chicken nugget up off the ground.   
  
"Uhh.. Two minutes?"   
  
Vejiita gave him a look. "One chicky nugget in the microwave for two minutes? Are you an idiot?" He looked at Gokou and shook his head. "Can you believe it?"   
  
"Maybe you should get out of the house, let it air out," he suggested.   
  
"Yeah, I guess." Vejiita threw the fork and boiling-hot chicken nugget at Craig and stalked to the window, of which he promptly slide open and crawled out.   
  
  
  
Gokou and Craig had quickly evacuated the kitchen shortly after Vejiita made his exit, although they exited through doors, not through the window. They found Vejiita sitting near the open window with his back against the side of the house. He appeared to be waiting for them.   
  
Gokou cringed, looking around. There wasn't that much smoke, but it was enough to make Bulma angry at Vejiita yet again. He didn't seem the least bit worried. Or angry. Craig had sat down next to him, twiddling the fork in his hands, snickering about something with Vejiita, who was laughing right along with him.   
  
He sighed and leaned against the side of the building as well, but did not slide down into a sitting position. He was a father, and even though he was never able to spend as much time with his sons as he would have liked, he knew probably better than anyone when someone needed looking-after. He wasn't going to let Vejiita and this friend of his out of his sight.   
  
He was talking quickly, hands flailing in extravagant gestures, his facial expressions shifting from angry to amused to serious, according to whatever part of the conversation he was at. Gokou wasn't quite sure what he was talking about, only that he seemed to be more talkative than ever before and it was clearly because of Craig's presence. Or maybe it was his voice that threw him off. It was different. Not deep or arrogant as it usually was. Lilting and often cut short by a snicker or chuckle at the end of a sentence.   
  
Gokou suddenly remember something from a long time ago, almost twenty years back. It was the beginning of December, and Gokou and Gohan had been taking the morning off from training due to a snowstorm having started in the middle of the night, leaving the land hidden in a sheet of ice and snow. It was calm by ten A.M., and Gohan had taken it upon himself to try to teach his father how to play chess.   
  
He had just finished explaining the roles and names of each of the pieces when there was a frantic, insisting banging at the door. "Kakarotto! Open the damn door up _now_!"   
  
As Gokou got up to answer the door, quite relieved to get away from chess, he heard Chichi complain from the kitchen. "Oh, what does that awful man want on a day like today? Gokou, tell him to go home, you're not going outside in this weather!" He chuckled and hurried to the door, where the knocking had not ceased.   
  
He threw the door open to see Vejiita standing there, alright, looking quite flustered. He was shivering. "Kakarotto! What the hell is wrong with this planet?"   
  
Needless to say, he was taken aback. "What?"   
  
Vejiita jerked his head back, gesturing to the blinding white landscape behind him. "What is this cold white glop that came from nowhere and covered everything and freezes my innards! I don't like it!"   
  
"Uhh.. It's snow Vejiita," he tried to explain without letting his amusement become apparent.   
  
"Snow!" he cried, spitting the word out with disdain. He turned from Gokou, hugging his arms to himself, gazing out sulkily. He murmured the new word over to himself quietly, tasting it, feeling it. "Snow.." he said darkly.   
  
He twisted around suddenly, poking Gokou in the chest. "You'd better take time from your training, buster, and spend some time on this filthy planet of yours. Might as well fix the faulty axis before trying to save the damn world, eh?"   
  
After informing Vejiita of the "seasons" and other basics any Earth-raised person would know since third-grade, Vejiita hastily excused himself and headed home.   
  
He heard later, through sources such as Bulma and Chichi and even Yamucha that Vejiita spent most of his time in the basement of the Capsule Corp. building he was living in. "Usually when he go down there," they told him, "he's doing push-ups or some other sort of exercise. But he always sticks close to the furnace."   
  
Gokou found Vejiita's predicament understandable, for the most part. From what he had learned of Vejiita, he had spent most of his life in man-made buildings or in space pods, only for short periods of time being on actual planets. He, and the rest of the crew, had hardly expected the stoic Saiyajin to actually voice his complaints of Earth's constantly altering climate.   
  
"Chesta, I'm still hungry."   
  
The scrubby Saiyajin's loud complaint broke Gokou from his reverie.   
  
Vejiita responded, "Then go home and eat somethin'."   
  
"No food. No money."   
  
"Aw, too bad."   
  
Craig looked despondently at the fork in his hand. Most of the destroyed chicken nugget was still stuck to the end. He sighed. "I sure wish I didn't blow up my food."   
  
"Well, I'll be you'll never do it again."   
  
"Ha, yeah."   
  
Vejiita snapped his fingers on both his hands twice and slapped his knees. "Do you have any paper?"   
  
"Nada."   
  
Vejiita fidgeted a bit more before plunging his hand into his pocket and withdrawing a black permanent marker. "Roll up your sleeves, I'll draw on your arm." Craig's eyes widened.   
  
"Cool." He complied, rolling the long sleeve up to his elbow and held his arm out to Vejiita. He pulled the cap off with his teeth and held it in his mouth. "Draw somethin' cool," Craig instructed him.   
  
His mouth obstructed by the pen cap, Vejiita didn't reply. He just leaned over and concentrated on the tip of his marker.   
  
Intrigued, Gokou left his spot against the building and squatted down before the two. Vejiita had already lightly sketched an angular design resembling fire on Craig's forearm, and was starting to color it in with the marker. He paused and Gokou realized he was staring at him. "Do you mind?"   
  
Gokou blinked and stood up. "Sorry," he muttered. Vejiita just laughed and shook his head. "What?"   
  
"Nothing!" he said angrily, then laughed and commencing to draw again. Gokou sulked until Bulma got home.   
  
Surprisingly, she wasn't as upset about the filthy kitchen as he had anticipated. She seemed more entertained by the "chicky nugget" incident than the end result. She was also quite interested in his friend, Craigie, for reasons Gokou could not grasp. To him, the other Saiyajin was a sloppy hellion of a sort. It wasn't that he didn't like him, but Gokou thought he was a kind of sleazy guy. Well, he thought, at least she isn't yelling.   
  
After calling in a clean-up service that came along naturally with her position in the Capsule Corporation, she invited them in to the living room, which was relatively unharmed, just a bit smokey. She guided Gokou unapparently away from Vejiita and his companion. Vejiita wasn't interested in any conversation, anyway, and Craig could hardly sit still. After only seconds both were out the door agian.   
  
"Did Goten give you my message?" she asked as soon as the door slammed behind them.   
  
"Yeah, that's why I'm here. What's up?"   
  
She frowned. "Haven't you noticed?" She glanced at the television. The old recording of the golf game was still playing. "That Vejiita's been acting... strange for the past few weeks? And who is this other guy?"   
  
"Vejiita said he's his friend."   
  
"Friend from when?" Gokou shrugged.   
  
"I guess from when he was younger. They get along awful well Bulma," he said. She seemed quite concerned about the stranger, despite her earlier interest in him. "Vejiita really seems to tolerate him."   
  
"Well, I hope he doesn't plan on staying here. I'm not sure about him."   
  
Gokou decided that for now, it was best _not_ to mention that it was Craig's fault that Vejiita left Trunks and Bra home alone a few weeks ago. As far as Gokou knew, no one else realized that Vejiita had stopped at his house for an entire hour before finally departing for Capsule Corp. He didn't want to look suspicious for holding back information. "He's okay," Gokou decided on saying.   
  
Bulma nodded, consoled. "I don't know what Vejiita's ever told you during those sparring sessions," she began, "But he told me something _very_ peculiar last night. He said that he wasn't even Vejiita at all! He came up with this big long name and said that he appeared at the end of the Cell Games or something... Gokou, he just didn't sound himself at all!"   
  
A bit baffled at all this, Gokou didn't say anything. He was surprised that she would tell _him_ all this. He didn't see himself as someone people would go to for any reason besides having fun or saving the world. But... Again, Bulma's actions were justified. He certainly knew what she was talking about. He nodded to let her know he understood.   
  
"What name did he give you?"   
  
She sighed, flustered. "I think it was.. Rhys something. Rhys Schultz." He nodded again. "Gokou, do you know anything about this?"   
  
He frowned. "Do I know what he's talking about? No. But I know what you're talking about... kinda."   
  
"He's just making me nervous, Gokou. I don't know what to make of him. He's either causing trouble and acting like a child or.. just sitting calmly on the couch reading–!"   
  
Gokou cut her off, not wanting her to get started on a frantic tirade. "Bulma," he said loudly, "I'll keep an eye on him, is that what you want?"   
  
She calmed. "Well, not that way... Yes, I suppose that's what I would like you to do." She sighed again and rubbed her forehead. "Could you, please? I have to work and I'm not sure I can study him and keep up with the business at the same time..."   
  
"No problem."   
  
  
  
Chester was bouncing a ping-pong ball of the side of a Capsule Corp. business building, discussing with Craig how useless dart boards were if you didn't have the darts, when Kakarotto joined them.   
  
"Yo. What's up?" Kakarotto had come up behind them and was standing next to Craig, who was sitting and shredding a grass blade to pieces.   
  
"Oh, not much. I was just talking to Bulma, that's all."   
  
"Good for you. Did she ask about my shirt?" He was still wearing that awful turquoise and pink shirt. Kakarotto shook his head. Chester frowned, disgruntled.   
  
"Vejiita, do you know anyone called Rhys?" Kakarotto asked.   
  
He straightened, rocking back and forth on his heals. The name sounded vaguely familiar.. wait! Yes, he knew. He felt like slapping his forehead. "Yeah, Schultz. Why do you ask?"   
  
Kakarotto shrugged. "Bulma said that you said you were that name a little while ago. She said she wasn't sure what it meant. Um, how do you know him, if you mind me asking?"   
  
"Nope, don't mind at all. I just know him."   
  
"How?"   
  
Chester thought about his answer before saying anything. He wasn't sure how to explain to Kakarotto in a way that he'd understand. It wasn't just that he was a bit slow, it was that it was difficult to put this situation into words. "He's the voice in the back of my head." Kakarotto raised his eyebrows, clearly not understanding.   
  
"What?"   
  
He shook his head. He wasn't quite sure why he bothering to explain this crap anyway. Still, he reasoned, if you're going to explain something, might as well do it right.   
  
He was going about it in a horrible fashion, but it _was_ sort of the truth; when Rhys rather suddenly appeared about fifteen years ago, all of the academic knowledge Chester and mostly Vejiita had absorbed when they were younger became built up largely in Rhys' psyche. It wasn't that he and the others were dumb, but they weren't especially intelligent. There was simply never a need for such an education in the past, and it didn't look like anyone was going to need it anytime soon, so they all got along fine with Rhys hoarding it.   
  
Chester, being, in short, the memory trace of all of them, automatically knew this about Rhys. Putting it in words, however, was a whole other story and coherent speaking had never been his forte.   
  
He shrugged. "He's just a guy I kinda know, is all. We're not close. I don't really like him that much, but he's okay."   
  
"No, that's not what I was--"   
  
From his sitting position on the ground near Kakarotto's feet, Craig suddenly said, "Hey, Chesta, is Rhys that dork who I talking to earlier?" Chester slowly walked over to them, thinking.   
  
"Yeah.. yes, that was him."   
  
"I don't like him."   
  
Chester frowned. "Why, he's a nice guy."   
  
"He's boring." Chester shrugged.   
  
Gokou never was able to steer the conversation back to precisely who Rhys Schultz was.   
  
  
  
Much to Montgomery's disgust, Chester had taken quite a liking to that Kakarotto idiot. Craig was one thing, a thing he could handle, but Kakarotto didn't even have the rough edge to him that made him more familiar. He just barely managed to shake the fool, who had been hanging around for two days now, by saying he wished to train for awhile – _privately_. Kakarotto took the hint and left, and Montgomery was pleased to see that he was disappointed at being shunned like that.   
  
In order to elaborate Kakarotto's appropriate feeling of unwelcome, Montgomery locked himself in the gravity room before the other had even left the property. He stood before the console of the amazing machine. He had long ago memorized where each switch was placed, what color each small light was, and which combination of dials and buttons made the gravity more intense or contrarily softened the room to a more appealing atmosphere.   
  
Sighing softly, he leaned his head back, feeling the muscles in his back and neck flex slightly. How did he feel today? Annoyed; that was usual, but his normal irritation was heightened due to Kakarotto's recent constant company and to Chester encouraging the presence. He also felt embarrassed; it was becoming increasingly difficult to cover up and make excuses for Chester's childish behavior. He frowned.   
  
Chester was deliberately obscuring Vejiita's illness from Gokou and the woman's knowledge. He wasn't quite sure why. His first assumption was that Hardy thought of this all as a game– but he wasn't _that_ sort of childish. Maybe... He wanted them to figure it out on their own. Hardy, despite his lowly reputation in Mont's eyes, was a clever guy. He liked mind games, but was kind enough to pull his stunts on those who could handle it. He came right out and admitted it to Craigie. But Mont had to remember to consider the circumstances back then. It was an impulsive move.   
  
Nimbly, he entered his own password and identification code to activate the machine and set the gravity level to a fairly high mode, slightly less intense the mode of his last workout. It was not his intention today to tone his body or perfect his skills. Today's workout was definitely for stress-relief only.   
  
He pulled of the dark blue tank top and whipped it out of the way. He had stored that nasty shirt Chester had been strutting around in recently under the sink among the cleaning supplies in Bulma's parents' room. He started off easily, with a simple warm-up kata that he had executed at the beginning of every training session since he was eight. It had changed gradually as his own status as a decent fighter rose, but it was basically the same thing, just evolved. It was his personal form of art.   
  
The soreness of his tired eyes and the ache in his back and the sharp, cramping pain in his stomach all began to dull and disappear as he finished up the kata and commenced actual practice.   
  
  
  
"Hey there. Where ya goin?"   
  
Gokou paused and looked off to the right. He was just gathering his ki in preparation to fly off, Vejiita having seemingly switched moods on him again, going from an old friend to the rude, arrogant, hateful prick he usually was. He was pretty much used to it from before, and he was only disappointed because he had gotten his hopes up that Vejiita would finally relax around him, as he had been. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case.   
  
Now he found himself watching Vejiita's peculiar friend. He was leaning against a lone tree with a half-eaten microwave burrito wrapped in a napkin in one hand. The sleek, purple-tinted glasses were at their usual place on top of his head, only this time they were balanced on a dark red visor he wore.   
  
Gokou slackened his ki. He knew Vejiita had told him to leave – quite bluntly in fact – but this Craig fellow had caught his attention. The other man left his post under the lonely tree and strode over to him. As he closed the distance between the two of them, Gokou noted that he looked much better than he had when he first saw him, a few days ago laying on the couch watching an old golf tournament. His eyes were no longer bloodshot, his hair was washed, and his face looked scrubbed clean. Gokou glanced at his outfit. He remembered seeing Trunks wearing that very shirt the last time he saw him.   
  
"Have the time?" Craig asked casually.   
  
"No," said Gokou, gesturing to his arms, which had wristbands but no wristwatch. "But I think it was a little past four last time I checked." Craig nodded and looked away towards the main Capsule Corp. buildings, scratching the underside of his chin. Gokou noticed that he was growing a bit of a beard at his chin.   
  
"If you don't mind me asking," Gokou started, "how exactly _do_ you know Vejiita?" Craig glanced at him and quirked an eyebrow.   
  
"You don't know?"   
  
"Nope." Craig took bite of his burrito. "Vejiita's never come out and said he ever had a companion before, besides Radditsu and Nappa. And this is the first time I've seen you without Vejiita around."   
  
Craig had a bewildered look on his face. "Radditsu and Nappa?"   
  
"Yes." The Saiyajin frowned slightly. "Radditsu was my brother and Nappa worked under Vejiita, I guess. When they were alive."   
  
Gokou literally saw the light go on in the other's eyes. "Oh _yeah_!" He laughed. "I remember Nappa; we used to throw food at him and called him a mean, mean, dirty old man." He grinned. "And when Rad was in a good mood, he was one helluva party animal."   
  
"You and Vejiita....threw food?" He trailed off. He simply couldn't see Vejiita acting so.. juvenile.   
  
"Yeah, all the time. It pissed him off, God was it funny." He finished off his burrito, wrinkled up the napkin, and dropped it on the ground. "Good days, good days." Gokou cleared his throat. "Oh yeah, 'Jiita. Yeah, we were roommates."   
  
"Roommates."   
  
"Yeah, we lived in a room together. I usually got the bed." He coughed and stretched. "He was a good roommate. I miss him. He cleaned a lot." He laughed and stuck out his tongue.   
  
Gokou smiled. Craig couldn't be much younger than Vejiita, but he sure wasn't acting old.   
  
"It's kinda cold out, isn't it?" commented Craigie. "It wasn't cold at all when I first came here. It was nice."   
  
"It'll be winter soon."   
  
"What a bitch. Well, Kak, I dunno 'bout you, but I'm going inside." Craig coughed into his hand again and headed off towards the main building. Gokou followed, deciding that this Craig was more than enough to overrule Vejiita's earlier order to leave.   
  
A chilly winter breeze flew past the corner of the building, ruffling the pair's hair. Gokou glanced over at the other. His hair was dark brown, almost black, with what were obviously dyed highlights here and there, blond among the black. He had an angular face, more similar to Gokou's than Vejiita's, in that it was not as lean as the latter's. And the jewelry: an eyebrow ring and no less than three piercings for each ear.   
  
Inside, Craig stopped abruptly at the doorframe between the hallway and the kitchen and said, without a trace of humility, "I'm sorta banned from the kitchen. Get me a snack, would ya?"   
  
Gokou nodded, amused, remembering the "chicky nugget" that had died at Craig's hands. He also remembered the burrito. "Craig, are you Saiyajin?" he asked, bringing out a box of Cheerios from the cupboard.   
  
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Doesn't mean anything now does it?" He accepted the box and opened it up and started munching quite loudly.   
  
"Vejiita thinks it does."   
  
"Yeah, he's kinda strange." Craig gave him a strange look to match his statement.   
  
At that moment, Vejiita flung the door open and stormed in. He was slick with sweat and there was what looked like a floor-burn on the right side of his face. He halted abruptly and stared at them, as if just seeing the two standing there.   
  
"Didn't I tell you to go home?" he grumbled in Gokou's direction, at last finding his voice. He glowered at him.   
  
"Shut up," snapped Craig. "He's _my_ guest."   
  
"This is my house."   
  
"Whatever."   
  
In response, Vejiita reached out and smacked the bottom of Craig's hand. The pieces of cereal that were in this open palm jumped and fell to the floor. Craig swore and gave him a dirty look, but Vejiita's face remained neutral, vaguely angry. His eye twitched and he twisted around, running up the stairs to the second level of the house.   
  
Craig was shaking his head. "He's so odd," he told Gokou.   
  
  
  
Montgomery sat on the edge of the bed, his temples resting on the heels of his hands and his fingers gripping his hair. He was frustrated. With everything. With his training – Chester Hardy, that fool, had predictably slacked off, that wretched but oddly charming Craig coming out of nowhere and influencing him again, just like when he was younger. He could stand the high gravity just fine, but he could be in better shape. He was getting clumsy; he had been honing speed-movement skills and he had tripped and skidded a good eight feet on the side of his face. It stung like hell.   
  
He was frustrated with not only Kakarotto's presence – but with whom he thought he was spending his time! He _knew_ the younger Saiyajin thought he was spending time with a lighter-hearted, silly young adult with a strange sense of humor – Hardy. He was correct half the time, Montgomery would give him that. But at least four times in the last three days had Montgomery come out. Craig had sensed the difference in him and had subtly changed his behavior towards him. Kakarotto treated him the same as always.   
  
He suspected that Craig would probably cause trouble for him in the future, as well. He hoped that Hardy wouldn't be an idiot and _let_ Craig drag him into something that would get them screwed over.   
  
Something was always distracting him, twenty-four seven. A buzzing, a tickling, a constant _noise_ in the back of his head. The presence of the others. Of Hardy, Schultz, Rob, Rip. And off to the side, blind and silent, the waking self: Vejiita.   
  
A loser with the maturity level of a college student, a day-dreaming novelist, two insane mass-murders, and one skittish nuisance. These were the entities with whom Montgomery shared his life. His precious life, which had been taken from him twice now. The chances of returning a third time were non-existent to his pessimistic way of thinking.   
  
He did not need these distractions. Not one.   
  
He'd deal with Kakarotto. Get him to see that he was Montgomery and no one else, and that he did not like him one bit, screw the other's opinions.   
  
His training would be back in swing. He needed to toughen up, threat or no threat in the future. Training was the only time he could let his mind wander, and he needed, just like the others, time to contemplate.   
  
The others.... They sucked up his time. Whether they were being dominant and paralyzing him until he felt needed, or just distracting them with their mere presence, they were nuisances and must be dealt with.   
  



	9. PRINCIPLES

**

Rhyme & Reason 8:  
[ P R I N C I P L E S ] 

**

  
  
  
_i am who i am who i am...   
but who am i?_

  
  
He was so tense it hurt. His muscles were coiled, stiff and taut. There was a low, groaning creaking sound, that echoed all around him. He cringed, his body tightening impossibly more, his spine tightening like a bow. He shivered and took a deep breath, trying to regain his senses. He was horizontal, laying on some cold, hard floor. The air smelt stale.   
  
Slowly, he lifted himself up on his elbow. His arm spasmed and he twisted around on his back before he collapsed and then proceeded to sit up from there. He found that the left arm was numb.   
  
It was so dark. And quiet. Was he dead? But being dead hurt. Forever. He couldn't be dead. He drew in another gulp of air, gathered his sporadic strength and stood the rest of the way up. His right arm out in front of him, feeling for any obstacles, his left arm frozen curled around his stomach, he managed to find a doorknob. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped out.   
  
Ah, merciful light. However dim as it was, it was light, and as soon as his eyes adjusted he took full advantage of what so many too for granted and gazed around. He was staring at a wall. To the right was where the light was coming from; squinting, he could faintly see furniture. Must be a living room. He turned carefully, not wanting to lose his balance. He had just come out of a bathroom. Since when did he sleep in the bathroom? He treaded slowly into the living room.   
  
_Craigie...?_   
  
Who else would it be? He was sprawled out on a hide-away bed, a TV blaring. Some old black and white movie was on. Vejiita bit his lip and frowned, and headed to the kitchen that was across from the television set. He turned on the faucet at the sink and cupped his hands under the water, then splashed it on his face. The cool liquid did little to clear his mind.   
  
Where was he? When he first saw Craig, he had first imagined that he was still living at Freeza's headquarters, waking up from the usual nightmares preceding a day of bloodshed. It never came to mind that everything that had happened between leaving Freeza's headquarters for good and settling on Earth was all just a dream; Vejiita never dreamed. Or, if he did, it was labeled a "hallucination." But this wasn't a hallucination.. He was pretty sure of that, at least. It was too real. Hallucinations, or whatever what might be distorting his perception at the time, never resembled anything real.   
  
He gripped the sides of the counter, which was damp from the water that had dripped of his face and littered with grease-stained paper plates and old take-out bags and silverware. All he could here was his own harsh breathing. It sounded especially loud in his ears.   
  
He peeked through one eye, gazing at his left arm. It was shaking unnaturally, his fingers gripping so hard his knuckles were white. He tenderly touched it with his other hand, then pinched hard. He didn't feel anything. He tried to relax his death-grip on the counter, and the concentration it took for him to do so showed plainly across his face.   
  
"Dammit..," he swore softly, tears of frustration brimming, almost but not quite flowing over. He felt so helpless, unable to even ease-up the muscles of his arm. He spied a small knife in the sink, one just barely large enough to slice an apple in half. He snatched it and held it close to his face, examining the edges. Deliberately, he lowered it to his arm.   
  
He could not stand this numbness. This numbness that seeped into his brain. He pressed the tip of the blade in first. He felt nothing, but his heart started beating all the same. He positioned the blade flatter, and pressed harder, and drew it across his skin. There–! He felt _something_. He hiccupped softly and stopped cutting. Blood slowly dripped from the two-inch long wound. He did it again; slicing at a slight angle to the first slash.   
  
He slumped against the counter and stared at the two small wounds. They were minuscule wounds compared to any random injury he had endured in his life. But, tonight, they meant so much. They meant pain, and in that, success. Pain was good.   
  
The blood hemorrhaged down his arm into the crook of his elbow. It gradually overflowed there and dripped onto the linoleum of the floor. He heard the faint splash of liquid hitting floor. It startled him.   
  
Vejiita dropped the knife still gripped in his right hand and threw back his head and screamed.   
  
  
  
He woke slowly, trying to ignore horrible sharp spot of pain in his back. He twisted around, not quite stretching, simply trying to find a position that would put less stress on it. He quickly stopped, however, when he heard a horrible grating sound accompanied with the surface he was leaning against slowly suddenly give away. His head something hard and all was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, fearfully, he opened his eyes, hoping to see something other than the impassive darkness. Luck– He could see! He blinked a few times just to make sure it was for real. He had a horrible habit of second-guessing himself. He had a great view of an upturned chair and the bottom of a card table.   
  
He swallowed, wincing, his throat painfully sore. He sighed and stretched half-heartedly, his attempts of waking up once again rewarded by inexplicable aches. He cut short his yawn and drew his partially out-stretched arms around his midriff. He was shivering. He turned over and crawled up from under the table. Had to quit dreaming and wake up.   
  
He bent his arm back, quite irritated at a stubborn substance that he found making movement a hassle. Blood. He stared at his bloodstained arm and shirt, and made the mistake of swallowing again. Should he be surprised? He, of all people, should _expect_ to wake up to the sight of blood. He walked awkwardly to the kitchen sink, twisted the faucet on, and positioned his discolored arm under the freezing water. He could only stand the cold for a few moments, however, and discontinued his washing-up prematurely.   
  
Where he was standing, at the barrier between the kitchen and the living room, there was a window, half-covered by a thin pillow cover, to his far right. It was just barely dawn. Ahead of him was the pull-out sofa-bed Craig, his limbs sprawled out and entangled with the sheets, a worse mess than last night. There was a window behind the sofa, as well, but it was obscured more thoroughly but a sheet so it was hardly detectable. He maneuvered his way between the narrow space between the TV set and the end of the sofa-bed successfully, and rested on the arm rest of the couch.   
  
Craig was sleeping so soundly – Vejiita hated to wake him up, though it was tempting. His thoughts hardly lingered on how he slept through Vejiita's earlier howling this morning. The explanation was obvious, considering his history. He focused instead on the television program. If he recalled correctly, there was a black and white movie on when he first passed through this room. He found himself staring at a grayscale screen this morning. He wondered when Craig's interest in classic movies developed.   
  
After countless minutes sitting numbly and staring at a gray, blurry screen, something else catches his attention. It is the green digital clock sitting on top of the television set. The numbers had all switched in unison, to 6:00. For no good reason, his gaze automatically went to Craigie, as if the change of the hour would mean he would wake. No such luck.   
  
He must have fallen into a light doze, or spaced out, more likely. Either way, he came to at a touch, a tense squeezing around his ankle. His reaction was a sporadic jerk, so violent he lost his balance on the arm rest and slipped onto the mattress.   
  
Craig seemed to be most startled to have Vejiita fall from nowhere right next to him. He blinked a few times before mutter, with a strange, lopsided grin, "Hey, there, mornin'."   
  
Vejiita frowned. "When where you going to inform me that you were here?"   
  
He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, rolling around and sitting up. "I've been here since October, smart one."   
  
"October?" Vejiita repeated, dread washing over him. Craig made it seem like it was such a long time ago — "What's the date today?" he asked, almost desperately.   
  
Craig, who was in mid-stretch, moaned and then said, "Hell if I know. Some time in December, maybe?" He shrugged.   
  
December. It had only been in the middle of November yesterday! He slumped into the cheap mattress. A month. A month was a long time, especially so someone who couldn't remember a time he spent more than three days as himself. The terrible truth was searing a hole in his consciousness.   
  
"Have you seen my keys, Chesta?"   
  
Chesta. Chester. That name... Such a strange name. Vejiita had accumulated many nicknames throughout his life, the memorable ones received with Craig at his side or by Craig himself, and rarely had they ever been flattering. But this Chester.... Vejiita wracked his mind, trying to grasp on to a ghost of an idea.   
  
Then he remembered the crumbled up ball over paper set somewhere on his desk back at Capsule Corp. It spoke of a stranger who called himself Chester who all too frequently possessed him. He and the other strangers. And here, his only friend in the universe, the only creature who he had though to _really_ know him, could not even tell the difference between the real Vejiita and the imposter.   
  
"Dammit, I can't find my keys." Craig sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, Vejiita saw him shrug. "Oh well.. I'm gunna take a shower, kay? I really stink." Craig said this humorously.   
  
Frustrated and upset, Vejiita pulled himself out of the mattress and pushed aside the makeshift curtain. Though it was early, the weak morning sunlight reflected strongly of the piles of pure white snow coating the buildings and streets that made up the view. He cringed at the glare and nearly withdrew, but the unwelcoming darkness of Craig's apartment wasn't where he wanted to think today. The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol – and God knows what else – were not calming.   
  
With considerable difficulty, Vejiita heaved the frost-incrusted window up and stepped out onto the fire-escape. It was freezing – he welcomed the bitter wind. It proved he was alive. He shut the dirty window partially and sat in the snow, resting against the side of the brick apartment building. He tucked his hands under his arms to cease their shaking and curled his toes nervously. He inhaled deeply; the fresh smell of snow intermingled with car exhaust.   
  
He bowed his head and tightened his arms around himself more securely. His feet were numb by now. His half-lidded eyes rested on his left arm. It was still blood-stained, however faintly. He had failed earlier to wipe off the water, so it had dried with an unmistakable pink tint to it. He considered his actions earlier this morning. It had all made sense at one a.m. He supposed it was all for the best; the two slices on his wrist didn't even itch, must less hurt. _Mere scratches_, he dismissed.   
  
A scraping sound to his left startled him. Craig stuck his head out, looking around, apparently taken aback by the bright landscape as much as Vejiita had been, for he was squinting royally. He finally spied Vejiita and clambered out.   
  
He shivered. "Kinda cold out, isn't it?" He shook his head, his hair still damp from his shower.   
  
Vejiita looked away. "It's a bit chilly." He glanced below. Most of the snow that had collected on this fire-escape had fallen through the wire mesh floor when he had sat down. He could clearly see two large, dark green Dumpsters directly beneath him in a snowy, vacant alley way. He wondered how many stories up they were.   
  
Craig was saying something. "What?" asked Vejiita.   
  
"You look sad." Vejiita thought he heard concern, true concern in the other's voice. He rubbed his face.   
  
"No. Just kind of tired."   
  
He laughed. _His laughter is different from the last time I heard him laugh,_ Vejiita thought. "Yeah, I believe you," Craig said.   
  
A dull throb, soon promising a relieving numbness, worked its way slowly up his legs. He shifted uncomfortably. "You believe me?" he repeated. "What is that supposed to mean?"   
  
Craig was still blinking and looking around, his eyes narrow slits. Vejiita guessed that it had been awhile since he had last seen natural light. Or any light, at that. "I dunno. You just came here all upset and stuff." He chuckled, his voice still hoarse from sleep. He patted Vejiita's knee with something other than companionable affection. "I guess I would be too, with the shit you got into."   
  
Vejiita's throat tightened. "Shit? Craig, what happened?" The other Saiyajin obtained an untypical expression of disquieted bewilderment.   
  
"You... Are someone different now," he concluded aloud.   
  
He sucked in a deep breath. "_No_," he said firmly. "I'm who _I_ am, alright?"   
  
"Alright, calm down—" Vejiita sighed and tipped his head back. "I'm just saying you're different form before. It's hard for me to keep you all straight." Vejiita flinched at his wording. _Keep you all straight..._ Craig continued uncertainly. He was horribly out of place here, trying to explain a complicated situation to a touching Saiyajin. "I guess.. Chester's been here most often." He cleared his throat. He was finished.   
  
After a moment, Vejiita took a deep breath. There was no reason to get upset about this. "So.. Tell me what happened?"   
  
Craig shook his head, shrugged. He flashed Vejiita an apologizing look. "I don't know." He paused, collecting his thoughts. Vejiita inhaled deeply again, trying to relax his tense shoulders. If he didn't relax he was going to cramp up or get a stiff neck. "You came here, two or three weeks ago.." He rubbed his ear, trying to remember. "You looked kinda flustered, or something. Like you had just been in a fight."   
  
"A fight?" he said softly. He nodded.   
  
"But you didn't say. You just looked. Looked kinda messed up, scattered. I let you in, like, you took a shower... Then fell asleep and the next morning, you know. You just moved in."   
  
Vejiita swallowed uneasily and said, "A fight," he repeated.   
  
"Or something."   
  
"Did I say anything else?"   
  
Craig shifted so he was crouching on his toes instead of sitting in the snow. Vejiita silently blessed Craig for not making a big deal about all these questions. "You said nothin'. I just all assumed." Vejiita nodded. He supposed that out of everyone, Craig knew him best. Craig could decipher his obscure moods, what the silent responses meant. There was probably a fight. A bad fight.   
  
The other suddenly pressed his finger to the two slashes on his arm. "What happened here?" Vejiita jerked away, replacing the wounded wrist under his arm. He felt guilty about them.   
  
"Nothing happened," he said frigidly. Craig shrugged. A moment later, he got up and went back inside, clumsily crawling through the half-open window. He left Vejiita outside. _It's because of the cold,_ he told himself. _He got cold._   
  
  
  
Son Gokou had been laying half awake, half asleep in bed when he heard a smacking sound against his window. He was about to ignore it and curl up to go back to dreaming between the shores of joy and slumber, when he heard the wet smacking sound again, louder. He recognized the sound as a slush ball being thrown against a solid surface. Was Goten outside already, playing in the snow? Now annoyed, he pulled himself out of the nice warm bed and stumbled to the window. The snow of small yard and forest area surrounding it were tinted reddish-orange from the slowly rising sun. Near the forest, he saw something move quickly. He reached out his senses and caught a whiff of a ki he hadn't felt in weeks. Silently, he pulled some clothes on and hurried outside.   
  
"Vejiita?" he said softly. Had it all been a dream? He studied the ground, searching for foot prints that looked fresh. No, he and Goten had had a snow ball fight yesterday, and it hadn't snowed again since.   
  
Vejiita was an obscure guy. Although it wasn't his nature to hide, it wasn't like him to throw slush balls instead banging on his door either. Lurking in wait, however, was more like him. He headed towards the forest.   
  
Sure enough, only a few feet in, an ice cold hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder, locking him in place. He was a sight. He was shivering vehemently, his eyes narrowed in something else than irritation. He was dressed in nothing but a short-sleeved blue t-shirt and a pair of khaki cords, ripped at one knee, his feet in black athletic shoes that looked like they had been chewed on by dogs. He noted with some interest a silver hoop pierced in the cartilage of his upper left ear.   
  
Vejiita didn't remove his hand; if anything, he tightened. Gokou finally turned and pried his hand, red with frostbite, off his arm. "Vejiita," he said in acknowledgment. A light went on in his eyes. He nodded. He seemed pleased.   
  
Gokou frowned. "Come with me inside." Vejiita followed after a moment of thought.   
  
It was barely eight a.m. on a Sunday morning. Chichi and Goten would be sleeping in for at least an hour longer, as Gokou had originally planned. Studying Vejiita, Gokou wondered why he didn't have that nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach like the last time he had seen him. Maybe it was the paranoid darting of Vejiita's eyes, or the slight tic of one of his eyebrows. His over all appearance was not that of intimidation. Or murder. But... What was he to believe? The nervous wreck or the killer Vejiita had proved he still was?   
  
Vejiita cleared his throat. "Kakarotto.. Quit looking at me like that." Gokou blinked, and looked away.   
  
The other Saiyajin sighed miserably and fell back into a chair. "I don't like the way you were looking at me." Gokou was about to reply, but he wasn't finished. "I don't know why you're staring at me like that. I didn't do anything wrong. I never did. I swear. So quit looking at me."   
  
He hesitated before finally speaking. He didn't think he was looking at him in any particular way. "Vejiita," he began, "you did do something wrong—"   
  
"No, I didn't."   
  
Gokou frowned, beginning to go from frustrated and confused to angry. "I think that killing your own son is doing something wrong, Vejiita." He regretted it as soon as the words were out.   
  
His head snapped up, his eyes wide and horrified. He murmured a hoarse curse and stood up, knocking the wooden chair to the floor. Vejiita looked around, in a panic, and spotted the door. Even though he was still soaking wet and shivering from his skulking in the forest, Vejiita made a mad dash to the door.   
  
Listening to his instincts, Gokou followed close behind.   
  
  
  
He couldn't have... They couldn't have... He was lying, the boy wasn't dead!   
  
Vejiita soared through the air, on the brink of going super Saiyajin, leaving a yellowish-white streak of exploited ki in his wake, blending almost perfectly in to the sky. He fought to keep his cool; usually when he lost time, the last thing he remembered was nervousness or panic or danger. Then nothing. But occasionally he felt himself gradually blacking out. He tried to keep his senses.   
  
_It wouldn't be so bad if they stayed within my ethnic code,_ he thought bitterly to himself, turning slightly east. He didn't even notice Kakarotto directly behind him, pursuing him.   
  
He landed hard in the yard of the housing buildings of Capsule Corp., nearly flipping over when his feet hit the slippery ground. He swallowed nervously, his throat sorer than ever. Okay, ahead of him was the gravity room. To his right was home.   
  
"Vejiita!"   
  
The voice was loud, but not harsh. He didn't move. Kakarotto came up to him. "Vejiita," he said again. "Relax."   
  
"He's dead, and I'm supposed to relax?" he all but screamed. He heard him sigh.   
  
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you. He's not really dead..."   
  
"Then why did you say that?" he asked stiffly, the words noticeably forced to hide the dread. He feared the answer. But none came. "Where is he?" Vejiita settled on asking. He _had_ to be bad if the damage was so horrible that Kakarotto couldn't even speak of it.   
  
"Follow me." His words were less than a whisper. Vejiita followed him again, the world black and silent, save the blurry sight and soft sound of Kakarotto's feet.   
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^   
  
It was a calm night. Half the sky showed the heavens, clearly showing a black sky speckled with twinkled dots, stars and suns of worlds that would never be visited by the natives of this one. The other half of the sky was black also, but it was an obstructing black, that gave not a beautiful sight but ice crystals. Snow fells softly on the ground, promising another few inches to the already vast snow drifts.   
  
It would have been a decent sight, thought Montgomery, had it not been so cold. And distracting at that. He slammed the gravity room door solidly, knocking the gathering snow off the top of the circular building.   
  
With Kakarotto leaving him alone unless beckoned for some formal sparring, Montgomery had been able to catch up on the training time that Chester and Vejiita so smoothly dismissed. They sickened him sometimes, even more than Kakarotto. They had no pride in their heritage, no dignity in themselves. Fortunately for them all, Montgomery was more than happy to carry the taxing burden of keeping the body fit and healthy.   
  
He repressed a slight shiver.   
  
He didn't care for Earth's constant interchanging seasons and climates — he couldn't name Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer in order to save his life — but the snow was mesmerizing. Never, in all his life, in all his travels from world to world, had he ever some across precipitation in the form of ice. Rarely did any world have such an imperfect axis. Earth was a one of a kind, that was sure. And it's uniqueness was slowly but surely driving him crazy, if not just off task.   
  
He snarled to himself and bit the palm of his hand in frustration. _Get on task, you fucking idiot. You beginning to become like Hardy!_   
  
Glancing at the digital clock built into the gravity console, he was pleased to see that at least the _time_ was being cooperative. Only ten p.m., plenty of time for a good workout before morning! He programmed the complex computer with out difficulty, his eyes sliding from the clock to the gravity indicator screen. The lights dulled to a moribund red.   
  
Conditioned to this change, after over a decade of this sort of training, Montgomery could scarcely keep his mind from shutting out all outside nuisances, concentrating just on himself, his body. On the workout; all that mattered.   
  
A severe banging sound successfully roused him from his hypnotic work out making his head throb for more reasons than one. He could tell by the ki, strong but squelched, that it was Trunks. That damn boy. Occasionally he was good for drilling with, but tonight he wanted precious _privacy_. "Trunks, go the hell away!" he hollered.   
  
Trunks replied, but his words were muffled, lost in the wind and between the multiple layers of steel the incased the gravity room. The lights suddenly shifted into a blaring white, successfully and completely snapping Montgomery from the atmosphere he had so carefully orchestrated in the room. Damn that boy and his emergency key.   
  
The nasty hybrid had no idea what it took for him to get a good work out these days. Kakarotto's senseless companionship and Craig and his tempting narcotics were always right under his nose. In addition to that, he had yet to stamp out the noise in the back of his head. His time in this room was _his_ time. Not the hours spent stoned in the laundry room with Craig. Not the high-strung sparring sessions with Kakarotto. He trained so often for more than exercise, he trained to _think_.   
  
His sight darkening, the edges red, he stalked over to the exit, swinging it open before Trunks had a chance to do so himself. He grabbed the teenager by the throat and flung him in the room. Through a hail-storm of obscenities, he made out, "Why the fuck are you disturbing me, you cur?"   
  
Trunks flinched visibly, rubbing his bruised neck. "I – I just haven't seen you around lately.. I was worried about you...?" The explanation ended in a meek question. Normally, his father didn't get _this_ angry when disturbed, just extremely annoyed.   
  
Montgomery didn't even hear the boy's retort. The entire evening was ruined, and all he had to look forward in the morning was a splitting head ache and a sore throat. Damn, was he yelling loud. Screaming, cursing the boy and his human heritage. When he looked at this creature, curled up against the console, more afraid of his father than he ever remembered in his life, it triggered something in him, buried deep under years of repression.   
  
A response to fear.   
  
What he loathed, what he fed on, what he feared himself. Fear was bad.   
  
...For Trunks, anyway.   
  
As it always had been when he was younger, when he had beaten down an opponent – in routine training periods or on the job – he had always killed them, whether he really wanted to or not. Fear was not tolerated. Fear in a father? Even worse. It was mutiny!   
  
  
  
_Mutiny._   
  
Well, that was what he was made for! Senseless murder, chaos, fire! Mutiny on the lords who owned him! As easy as one would draw in a breath, and as frantically as a man struggling for air, Rob mentally throttled Montgomery and tossed him aside. He did it! The provoking obstacle was removed.   
  
A fleeting victory, forgotten as soon as it was acknowledged. Montgomery was no longer an issue, but his prey was. Wide-eyed and already bleeding, the child stared at him, as if he could tell that the merciful, righteous Montgomery was gone. He whispered something, a quavering word asking for pity. _Father..!_ The meaning of the title was all but lost to Rob. He understood language, unlike Rip, but it didn't really _mean_ anything to him, really. They could not show pity. They could barely speak at the best of times.   
  
Now, for example. Rob could only grate out harsh growls and snarls, a poor imitation of the nearly forgotten Saiyajin language. He was pleased, however, that intelligible noises scared the boy more than Montgomery's laughable curses, and didn't bother to straighten out his speech.   
  
A smile, as crooked as danger, pulled back Rob's lips. He rose his left hand, a wicked gleam to his eye, and punched Trunks hard in the shoulder. He screamed; this was no flesh wound. Ligaments mangled, the ball-and-socket joint shattered to dust. Rob laughed; he was just beginning—   
  
^^^^^^^^   
  
Vejiita fell back against the wall, covering his face with his hands. Appreciatively, Kakarotto shut up, the seemingly endless list of damage ceasing abruptly, setting the clipboard he was reading off of to the side. He didn't need a explanation of the injuries he had apparently dealt out white bandages and hard casts covered the damaged area's of the boy's body.   
  
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since this had happened, and Trunks could barely open his eyes. Half a month and the only recovery shown was that it was unlikely that he was going to die. And his own father had done it to him. Vejiita knew, probably better than anything, what it was like to have a father as an enemy, as a feared oppressor. At least _he_ had never had to go through the heartbreak like Trunks probably did. How would he take it when he summoned up the strength to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time?   
  
He was forced to accept the truth: there were other people within him. He hadn't wanted to accept it, though he knew it was true all along. Even before Craig's note did he have a suspicion. He would never kill his own son. At least not Trunks, he was a good boy. But who would believe him? He was insane. He had people who possessed him and did bad things and left when people starting pointing fingers at him. Leaving him to blame and helpless to defend himself against a mystery transgression.   
  
Helpless. So helpless.   
  



	10. LANDMINES

**_warnings:_** drug-use and some shounen-ai... YES homosexuality. if you don't like that and have read thus far and have enjoyed yourself, suck it up, read, and just scan that part. there's not much, i promise. 

  
  
  


**Rhyme & Reason 9:  
[ L A N D M I N E S ] **

  
  
  
  


A parent should never have to bury the child, she thought as she gazed at the battered teenager. It was two in the morning and even though she knew she needed all the sleep she could get these days, her mind thought differently. She couldn't rest. She was so afraid that the machinery would malfunction, or that Trunks' erratic health would suddenly plunge. But mostly she was afraid he would wake up, in a strange and dark room, with nothing but the indifferent hums of the machines that kept him secure in life and the blinking red and green lights. He needed his mother.   
  
He needed his health. It wasn't fair, for such a young boy, not even in his prime yet, to lay unconscious day and night! They'd use a senzu bean, as they usually did when a comrade was beaten and down, but the specialized personal doctors Bulma had hired were skeptical of the beans. "No foreign food," was a favorite excuse of theirs, when Bulma attempted to use her high-ranking status as president of a multi-million dollar business. Trunks was not admitted "foreign food" because it could jeopardize his health. When she gathered up others to convince them, they inquired exactly _how_ they would give the bean to Trunks. He was unconscious most of the time and they didn't want to risk getting it into his system through needles.   
  
They were stuck with crude machines until he gathered the strength to chew and swallow.   
  
She stared at his handsome face, still bruised and marred. He looked so much like Vejiita almost twenty years ago, when she was in this very position tending to him after he made a miscalculation in the gravity room. But now she felt to pity for that man — never should have!   
  
Bulma shook her head and strode out of the room, no longer in her vague stupor she found herself in, staring at Trunks. Thoughts of his father had kicked her quite roughly from her daze and left her instead in a dark infirmary room.   
  
Instead of going to her room, she took a detour down the stairs and curled up on the couch in the living room, drawing a dark green blanket up to her chin. She grasped a remote resting dangerously on the edge of the sofa and pointed it towards the state-of-the-art home stereo system. The radio was already tuned to a local station, classical music flowing quietly, soothingly, from the speakers.   
  
She had to think and she found it was impossible to do in her room. Vejiita had moved out of her room a long time ago, without even bothering to notify her. It took her a good week to finally realize he had bunked in a different building all together, simply assuming he was training into the night and up before she woke. Only after watching him carry a week's worth of dirty dishes to the kitchen did she realize he was gone for good.   
  
Was that were it all started, six years ago when he moved out? When he left her? Despite her busy schedule and different interests in men, she still found herself thinking of him. He was certainly not someone you had the opportunity to run into everyday — and it was by all means an opportunity.   
  
She missed him. Missed that unyielding and obscure protection and promise of his unending strength, that presence which she fell back on that she took for granted. She missed the mystery of his eyes, how he always hid any charming aspect of his personalty until the most inessential time. Like rushed mornings where she was off to work and had often just come in from a satisfied night of undisturbed training. He could make you cry, scream in fear, or sometimes in delight. He could make your sides ache with laughter, she was certain, if he should ever try.   
  
But she didn't miss the violence. He never hit her. He never hit Bra. He only hit Trunks during sparring, or the occasional cuff in the head in reprimand. But to totally mutilate him? That was unacceptable, by anyone's standards. And what was his reason? The reason: repeated intrusion of his personal training time. Yes, Vejiita was finicky about his training and strength. They all knew that. It was common knowledge. But he was wrong in his rationality. "Repeated"? No, Trunks had only bothered him to collect him for meals or when the gravity room needed it's weekly over-view, checking for minor bugs that could eventually eat up the entire system. Vejiita giving more time to the damnable room than his son quirked the boy somewhat, and became a downright disappointment after his – Rhys' and Chester's— earlier interest, helping him with homework and driving him to town.   
  
He never saw it coming.... She found Trunks lying face down in the ground the next morning, body nearly hidden behind a sheet wind-blown ice. The snow surrounding him was dyed a deep, frightening crimson. His face was bright red, from both frostbite and constant, stifled sobbing into the ground. She had looked up and saw Vejiita sitting casually on top of the tool shed, rubbing his chin and gazing out into the gray sky.   
  
Bulma halted her recollection there. That look in his face.... Calm, but not aloof. His posture, relaxed but not slouched. His eyes... When he met her eyes, she saw a strange look. She wasn't sure what she was expecting; for a person to do this to his own son _must_ be insane! But she saw no rage, no preposterous victory gloat over a "job well done." Even the usual cold, hard blankness was gone. She observed an offhand apologetic expression, with minimal remorse. It was like a merciful gentleman on the street dropping a few coins into a blind man's hand. _Jeez, what misfortune. I feel for you, but I can't do anything way over here, now can I? Good luck, though._   
  
She hadn't said anything to him. She quickly scooped Trunks into her arms — he was frighteningly light — and didn't look over her shoulder at him as she hurried inside. A few hours later, after she had been shunned from the operating room and too restless to inside with the others who had come to comfort her in her hour of need, she had pulled on a thick winter coat and stepped out into the midday, winter sunlight.   
  
Vejiita was waiting for her. Gone was the pity, the remorse. It was replaced by that deadpan look. He didn't say anything, however. He seemed to have stuck around to collect what was coming to him.   
  
She wasn't sure what to say at first. Had he counted on that? Did he plan to still only while everyone was in shock then run away when it came to pay the consequences? Well, that wasn't going to happen. She opened her mouth to speak, but only got one word out before he cut her off. "Vejiita—"   
  
Bulma shivered and turned the radio down as a commercial came on. Nothing Vejiita had said had even come close to justifying his barbaric conduct of discipline. "He kept bothering me so I decided to beat him within an inch of his life" summed up his explanation quite nicely. She didn't have a chance to yell at him, introduce to him her own brand of punishment. Without another word, he turned and left.   
  
"More like he turned and _fled_," said Yamucha, after Bulma had related the story of his departure to them later.   
  
Bulma frowned now, remember how she had immediately agreed, angry and bitter. Yamucha was not Vejiita's number one fan — she could say that about all of them — but he was the only one brash enough to speak his opinions about the Saiyajin. She resented him for that; he had almost successfully turned her against him.   
  
However, she found she could not hate Vejiita. It just didn't.. Make sense, any of it! Vejiita was brash himself, but was not longer _that_ violent, if he ever was. And the way he was gazing at her from the tool shed when she found Trunks. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Then he left, after an explanation that was pretty weak for him. He wasn't like that any more.   
  
He wasn't.   
  
She paused in her musings for a moment, trying to mentally ease the tension from her shoulders, shifting into a laying position on the couch.   
  
He wasn't... Was he? Or was she all wrong in everything? Was Trunks' near-death incident a product of her giving Vejiita unwarranted trust? _Was he still a killer?_   
  
Tears filled up under closed eyelids. Oh, God, no, he couldn't be! But that he was still the monster he had convinced the he was at one time still lingered... Not strongly, but it was there, most certainly. She sighed and let the tears roll freely down her cheeks. This could wait for morning....   
  
  
  
Gokou watched the confrontation, trying not to look conspicuous. He had noticed her first, seeing her slim form at the doorjamb out of the corner of his eye. He had been staring at Vejiita, and when he had turned to her, Vejiita had as well.   
  
From where he was standing, in the corner of the room, the back of his legs pressed up against the table of humming and clicking machinery, he couldn't see Vejiita's expression properly, who was sitting closer to the door than him and facing away.   
  
Bulma's visage gave no interpretation of the status of this tense situation, either. Utterly emotionless and concentration stiffly on Vejiita, the blankness of her face made him suspect an unfortunate conflict soon to come.   
  
For a while, no one moved. Gokou didn't dare; this wasn't his business. Bulma started to speak, only making the first syllable out before Vejiita broke in.   
  
"I didn't do it."   
  
A simple sentence, one that, while denying it, is usually spoken when one usually is guilty, too strung up in tension to come up with a better explanation. Not only the sentence, and the sick persuasion that accompanied it, did Vejiita's posture helped twist the sentence. Tense. Hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. Gokou could imagine, with surprising precision, the Saiyajin's expression; eyes strained upward at the woman, mouth a straight line. An expression of expectancy and nervousness.   
  
"I swear, it wasn't me. I wouldn't do that."   
  
"But you did," Bulma replied, eyes downcast.   
  
Vejiita's head jerked back with surprise. He glanced back at Gokou, confused, then back at her.   
  
"I'm sorry," he said, almost lightly. It was like he had given up. _Okay, she's not going to believe me, forgive me. Throw it all out the window._ But Bulma's head snapped up. What he said was important.   
  
Gokou remembered, a few months ago, Vejiita clad in casual clothes, actually laughing, apologizing for missing a few sparring sessions. Then, a shorter time ago, he apologizing in the same easygoing manner for leaving a large, misplaced traveling trunk in the middle of the entrance hallway. He met Bulma's eyes, but he did not share the same stunned look she gave him.   
  
  
  
"Rob wants to kill you."   
  
Gokou glanced over at Vejiita, who had seated himself between Yamucha and him on the sofa. He assumed that he was talking to him, but his blunt sentence caught Amici's attention as well, who was unfortunately less discrete than Gokou about eavesdropping. In order to celebrate Trunks' delayed recovery, Bulma had invited the Sons, Krillen's family, Yamucha, and a few of Trunks' friends from school (who had been informed he had had the most unfortunate car wreck) for a private party. Most of the others were spread too far away and apart to contact.   
  
He had guessed from how he had so certainly plopped himself down between the two people he supposedly disliked that this wasn't Vejiita... or whoever. Over the last week and a half, Vejiita's selves had introduced themselves to him. Chester was the only one with whom had become very acquainted, for he came out so often these days, and was brazen. Montgomery was the Vejiita they had all grown to love, so to speak, and Vejiita himself had little or nothing to say.   
  
Now, Gokou understood. He understood the occasional haunted, bewildered look in the other Saiyajin's eyes, the utterly scattered look on his face and the distortion of his uniform stiff posture. It was Vejiita, emerging through the others in the middle of the day, his total unfamiliarity in the present situation enough to bring forth one of the other selves, thus obscuring him back into anonymity.   
  
Still, Vejiita's entire predicament was uncertain, to say the least. Trunks had woken up the afternoon after Vejiita came home, and they were permitted, under the head doctor's dubious eye, to feed him one senzu bean. The doctor had nearly passed out on the floor when he witnessed the remarkable outcome of that ingestion, one that could only be called a miracle. He was up and walking at last, and everyone's joyful attention was on him, not Vejiita. Gokou did not miss how he tended to avoid his father for the most part. But then again, most of his attention was on Vejiita.   
  
"Chester?" he presumed, not once thinking that this might be a huge joke orchestrated by the sicker depths of Vejiita's mind. He nodded lightly, his thoughts not focused on recognition but on the subject at hand. Vejiita — Chester — gestured to Trunks, on the far side of the living room, chatting jokingly with Goten and a friend from school.   
  
"That kid, you saw him, didn't you? A few days ago, when he was all beat up. Rob did that."   
  
Gokou nodded. He had never met Rob, and he had only been mentioned casually once.   
  
"Well, it just so happens that you haven't caught his fancy, but his little.... romp with the kid has awoken his old taste for blood." Gokou swallowed nervously.   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
He sighed and shook his head at himself in disbelief. "And he was doing so _good_ lately!" He glanced at Gokou. "I could have stopped him. But I didn't."   
  
He frowned. "Why didn't you?"   
  
"None of my business!" he replied matter-of-factly. In a deeper tone he said, "But, I shoulda known better. He's hardly capable of handling business, that fool. Oh well. He's okay now." He looked at Trunks. The teenager met his gaze, then quickly looked away. Like his mother, his face exposed no emotion at eye-contact.   
  
Chester then turned his head, giving Yamucha a dirty look. The other man wisely turned his attention back to the television set, apparently minding his own business. Although his eyes were on dirt-biking, his ears were tuned into the conversation to his right.   
  
"Rob... wants to kill me?" said Gokou, getting back to the more devestating subject matter. Chester nodded, eyes intent and probing. "But... I don't think you should worry, Chester." He said the name casually. "I'm stronger than... you... Or whoever. Rob would have a hell of a time over-powering me."   
  
"Montgomery," he informed him. He shook his head. "No; you're forgetting. _Rob is not Montgomery._ They are two very different people."   
  
Gokou swallowed around a knot in his throat. "But... power is power. Just because... Just because you think you're someone different, doesn't have any affect on physical power! They're two different things!"   
  
"No. _You're forgetting_," he repeated. "Listen to me. Kakarotto, we're all people in our own rights. ...Vejiita being the one exception, ironically." He smirked grimly at that. "You only have what you think you have. No more. No less. Now, Rob doesn't think a whole lot, but when he does, he develops this sort of sense of almost false power and confidence. Only, it isn't fake for him. It is real, Kakarotto. Too real."   
  
He finished his speech with a severe expression, so unlike the Chester Gokou had come to know. So.... Vejiita's selves had their own distinct personalities as well. They were not just flat, one sided characters, he realized. They had moods, thoughts, desires, preferences of their own. He wondered why he had this rising sense of forlorn.   
  
"What should I do now?" Gokou asked nervously.   
  
Chester broke out into a grin. "Can't help ya there, buster! Just watch your ass!" He smacked Yamucha's chin, stood up, and made his way to the snack table, his mission to warn Kakarotto completed. Yamucha raised his eyebrows at Gokou, obviously not insulted by the playful gesture. He smiled back.   
  
Not many knew exactly what _had_ happened between Vejiita and Trunks, and later, between Vejiita and Bulma. It was never to be brought up, never to be discussed. It was over with. Gokou wasn't even certain himself, and he was there. It just seemed that his apology, as offhanded as it was, meant a great deal to Bulma and convinced her that he was innocent. In fact, it was probably the offhandedness that made it so important.   
  
As far as Gokou knew, he was the only one who had put two and two together and associated with the other selves. Well, Bulma had a vague relationship with Rhys, whose tenderness and intelligence held her at attention. But she did not scrutinize how he preferred to call himself by a different name when he was composed. Nor did she examine Vejiita's plea: "I didn't do it, I swear." She heard the apology and believed him and forgave him. End of discussion.   
  
Gokou, however, didn't deny the facts. He knew them by name, recognized the changes between Vejiita, Chester, and Montgomery, and even Rhys when he once decided to come out and say hello. He didn't know what to call it he wasn't sure if he could explain his half-formed theory. He just knew that it wasn't an act.   
  
He hoped his deepening relationship with Vejiita and his selves would not turn out to be a burden in the end. Montgomery was quite the handful to get along with alone. Chester was great to have around, except that he got crazy sometimes, especially when his friend Craig was around. Vejiita... The relationship with Vejiita was awkward. He had connected a name to a personality for as long as he had known the man, and now Montgomery was Vejiita and Vejiita was.... A stranger. A stranger who didn't seem to want to have anything to do with him at all.   
  
He sighed and scratched his head, snatching a bowl of potato chips from off the coffee table and leaned back and munching.   
  
_Vejiita.... What is wrong with you?_   
  
  
  
Drugs. Mind-altering substances. Medicine, sold at pharmacies prescribed by doctors. Can numb aches, cure diseases, grant rest to an uneasy soul. Narcotics, Montgomery's new solution for everything. Now, Montgomery wasn't much for artificial substances; steroids and the lot. He trained hard, nearly day and night, and stayed fit and kept his focus without err.   
  
Which was how he found himself living off the needle.   
  
It was an interesting predicament, such an unusual predicament that if anyone else should witness they would halt in their tracks and gawk, for Montgomery's actions went against all his personal ways of life. The present situation in his head had developed into something way out of his control, and in an attempt to find what he considered control again, he unintentionally sunk deeper and deeper into a routine he found himself helpless to break.   
  
Montgomery, by basic nature and drilled-in conditioning, was a creature of habit. Wake, stretch, shower, stretch again, eat, jog if weather permits, kata, full-blown training, break or meditation, and so on, with little variation. There was hell to pay, or a reasonable migraine, should this routine be broken or altered. For his entire life he had dealt with and accepted the consistent drone in the back of head. Gradually, over the past few months, it had grown stronger, more vicious. Irritating, distracting, a burden.   
  
Something had to change.   
  
He changed one thing, changed one factor of his routine, which had suited all his purposes in life unfailingly to dat, and everything started falling apart before him. The routine used to be an answer to everything, so he had clung to it like a lifeline. It used to save his sanity, just the consistency of it, plus it gave him time to dwell on any random subject that he wouldn't dare think of out in the open. Now he found he could not stick to his routine. It was too hard, next to impossible. How could one concentrate with almost a half a dozen people chattering enthusiastically in the back of your head for all hours? He just couldn't do it!   
  
He was seething one day, attempting to keep his anger in check by hacking apart logs into firewood out behind the buildings with a heavy, moderately-sized axe. There wasn't a single fireplace in any of the modern Capsule Corp. style buildings, but they were surrounded by a forest, and Montgomery and Robert alike found solace in this repetitive, time-consuming and somewhat tiring activity.   
  
It was a warm day in mid-December, bare patches of dead grass peeking through slowly melting snow. Montgomery's goal was to make his hands numb by noon, and was chopping through some rather solid blocks of wood. Repetitiveness was practically as good as consistency; pretty much the same thing, right? _Well, close enough_, was Montgomery's reasoning. He was becoming quite absorbed with his new hobby, and although he knew where everyone within a sixty mile radius was, he was only tuning in to those that were intrusive. Craig wasn't intrusive.   
  
The fool was visiting, his weekly load of laundry tumbling in the washing machine, and he had been watching Montgomery chop wood for a few minutes now. He liked to watch him, any "him," be it Mont, Vejiita, or Chester. He used to watch him in his sleep, even. It was the only kind he could hold still, which was fortunate, because it took forty-five minutes for Montgomery to finally acknowledge him. With a brief nod, he laid the axe down near the pile of wood, and gestured for Craig to follow him inside. He caught up with him quickly.   
  
"Why don't you get a job?" Montgomery greeted sourly, displeased with Craig's living style. Craig shrugged. There was no need for him to find a means to support himself; Vejiita or one of his selves paid his rent, and Craig helped himself to meals and showers at Capsule Corp. Any extra money he suckered out of them was their loss.   
  
In the warm entry way of the house, Craig kicked off his soaking wet shoes without haste. He was glad to be inside; walking around in muck was never an activity he would elect voluntarily. Montgomery, not bothering to peel off any wet clothes, left Craig to peer through to door way into the living room. Abandoned. The kids at school, the woman either taking a shower or at work. No one else was in the house. Good.   
  
He walked the rest of the way into the living room and sank down into the couch. To everyone else, there were two postures that characterized Montgomery: arms folded, ankles parallel to each other and his shoulders, or arms on either side of his body, stiff and tense and ending with coiled fists, the rest of his body maneuvered into an unshakeable stance ready for just about anything. But Craig knew one more, and although it was the most approachable posture, it was also his least favorite.   
  
Hunched over. Head clamped between hands, fingers curled into hair. Craig remembered seeing him like this a few times before. Usually it was after a day of "group training", undeniably Montgomery's least favorite exercise. Preferring a more solitary lifestyle, being forced to train with half a dozen other soldiers three times his size not only gave him a headache and put him in an incredibly bad mood, it also made him anxious. He just didn't like all these people! At the end of the day, still stinking with sweat, Craig would trip over him sitting on the floor, in this very position.... Breathing deeply, perspiring unnaturally. When asked what was wrong, he'd just shake his head, slowly sit up. "Hard day," was his explanation. "Strung nerves," was what he meant.   
  
Craig glanced around, taking in, as Montgomery had done only moments ago, the vacant house. "No one here?" he said. His voice was hushed; one might think that they were in a church.   
  
"Empty."   
  
Craig sat down with a little too much enthusiasm necessary for sitting. He wrapped an arm around Montgomery's back and gave him a tight squeeze. "What's wrong?"   
  
He heard him growl, but his answer lacked defensiveness. "Nothing."   
  
"Tell me. Come on. You're all quiet and stuff. What's going on?"   
  
Montgomery sighed and bent his head back so it was resting on the back of the couch. Craig just _had_ to bother him. He was so _irritating..._.   
  
"I.. I don't know, Craig. It's just me. I can't think, I can't do anything right at all. Ever. It's because they keep bugging... It's like my head won't leave me alone..." He closed his eyes.   
  
It seemed like it was quiet for such a long time. Then Craig stood, hauling Montgomery up also as he did so. "No one upstairs, eh?"   
  
"Everyone else is gone," he said reluctantly, uncertain of where this was going. When Craig was silent, neither speaking nor moving in response to the affirmative answer, Montgomery looked up. He met Craig's steady gaze and didn't blink. He saw the concern there, and he saw the mischievousness underlying it as well. It was obvious what he was thinking.   
  
He raised his eyebrows slightly and turned his head to the staircase behind him. "I think my laundry's done."   
  
The laundry room. This time it wouldn't be for leisure. This time, the needle would grant him his great escape. Montgomery took the needle to his vein, and all the confusion that his mind had accumulated due to the noise started to clear up, the noise drowned out by narcotic...   
  
  
  
Craig had said to Chester once, after a particularly snotty comeback, that he "hadn't changed a bit from when he was a kid." Craig, from the other's standpoint, could have the exact same thing said about him, as well. His tastes had matured over the years, as all people's tastes did so, he supposed, and instead of turning to liquor as a first and last resort, any sort of drug was now would do the job.   
  
Rhys Schultz personally preferred the liquor, even though he was even more strict about mind-altering substances than Montgomery. Liquor could be sophisticated if handled maturely, he had figured. Plus, everyone except for Chester, Rob, and Rip just became sleepy and laid around while they were intoxicated. If he was unwittingly bothering Montgomery, couldn't he have at least gotten a little drunk? He also preferred hangovers to... this...   
  
Rhys, normally passive to the point of inactiveness, did not often pass judgement on others. But when someone was reckless enough to inject a considerable amount of an illegal drug into his system, then have the _gall_ to hide when less desirable side effects started to kick in, was simply irresponsible. Rhys had always thought of Montgomery as the adult and Chester as the child; he had never once thought that he would do such a thing!   
  
He was left with uncontrollable shakes and an uneasy stomach whose churns were only worsened by the washing machine against which his back rested. Oh, how he wished that when Craig had invited upstairs with the reason that his laundry was done was in fact the truth. He was most uncomfortable against the hot, shaking machine, and found himself unable to move.   
  
He was staring at the small window high on the wall. He couldn't do much else. Nor did he really want to. The window was covered with a thin white curtain, but enough natural light managed to shine through the transparent cloth in order to illuminate the room somewhat. Ah, hell. He didn't really care. He just wanted this to be over with. He didn't like the way he was feeling.. _What am I feeling?_ he wondered. _Do I really hate this so much? Is it that bad? Why am I even here?_ Because Montgomery was driven away, the narcotics having influencened his mind the most. Because Chester wanted nothing to do with it and Rhys, the only remaining reasonable option, didn't have the heart to abandon poor Vejiita into this wasteland. Considering his actions lately, Rhys had the feeling Vejiita would embrace this half-dead condition without hesitation.   
  
He took a deep, shaky breath and consoled himself. _This too shall pass._   
  
  
  
Maybe it was a bad idea. All of it. He probably should have gone straight back to Craigie's place after the entire Trunks ordeal blew over. Then maybe he wouldn't be in such a hot spot. None of it was even his fault; nothing! Well... Maybe some of it was his fault. After all, he _had_ encouraged Craig to come over all the time, and he didn't make him do anything at all to support himself. Chester hardly did either; he got most of his money from Bulma. Slacker by nature. Old habits die hard.   
  
Chester sighed. He had shared Rhys Schultz's notion that Montgomery was the "adult" and that he was acting as Chester usually did.. put a slight dent in their way of living. Chester didn't want to take control of all the important situations simply because Montgomery thought he was going crazy. He personally thought that he was being just as quiet as usual. Mont was overreacting. Chester decided that he was more annoyed with what he decided to deal with his problem rather than how. Depressants. Could you possibly get any more _boring?_   
  
He shrugged off Montgomery's preference, crouching down in the snow and packing the white flakes together in the palm of his hand. After years on Earth, he discovered that the pros of the dreaded winters far outnumbered the cons. One: if you stand outside long enough, and even dare to _touch_ the white glop, you developed some sort of immunity to the resulting cold. Two: most other people hadn't discovered this peculiar immunity, and Chester used that against them. And what did that mean? Fun!   
  
An evil grin spread across his features. Kakarotto. The ultimate fun.   
  
Chester was hunkered down behind a few sad-looking bushes outlining the front of one of the fancier Capsule Corp. buildings. They were leafless, but they had thick branches, so Chester assumed that he was well concealed from sight. He liked this hiding spot because there was nothing behind him save a tool shed, and no one ever went there, so he didn't have to watch his back. He was towards the end of the row of dormant plants, so he was partially at the other side of the building, as well as behind bushes. He could see perfectly at this vantage point yet remained perfectly unseen.   
  
He scooped up some more snow, but chose not to add small stones to the snowball. Naw, he'd save those for Craigie or Trunks. Kakarotto was carrying a large envelope and Chester didn't want to make him drop it; that would be rude.   
  
He finally exposed himself, standing up straight and headed towards Kakarotto, idly packing and crunching the snowball in his hands. He was within ten feet of the other Saiyajin before he noticed him, and when he did, he was greeted with a smile. Chester returned it automatically.   
  
"Hey there, watcha doing?" he said, stopping directly in front of him, staring up at him like a child. The smile hadn't yet left his face, but had transformed into a curious little smirk. Kakarotto held up the manila envelope.   
  
"Just dropping off some stuff from Gohan that Bulma requested. Not much besides that."   
  
"Anything for me?"   
  
"Nope."   
  
"I have something for you." With that said, Chester leaned up and rubbed the snowball he had been carrying around into Kakarotto's face.   
  
"Hey—!" Kakarotto dropped the enveloped to the ground and tried to get away, wrapping his fingers around Chester's wrist in an attempt to escape the white-washing perpetrator. But Chester just laughed and managed to shove what was left of the snowball — clumps of snow and ice-cold water — down the front of his shirt. Then he scooped up the envelope, forgotten on the ground, and dashed inside.   
  
He really wanted to get inside. He had conducted an experiment in order to prove or disprove his theory about snow immunity. He was romping around outside sported in nothing but a yellow muscle shirt and orange jersey shorts, both of which were a size or two too large. He was wet, red, and shivering from the cold, so his theory was deemed inaccurate, for the most part. He was used to the cold, but nevertheless still got cold.   
  
He rubbed his toes against the carpet, drying them off and trying to get the blood pumping so he could feel them again. Chester grinned and turned around, the grin widening at the sight of Kakarotto. The front of his shirt was dark with dampness, and his face was as red and wet as Chester's legs were. He tossed the stolen envelope onto the counter, wished for some hot coffee, and waited for Kakarotto to join him.   
  
If he was annoyed at first at Chester's underhanded trick, he certainly didn't seem to mind now. Well, of course he didn't, Chester told himself. He likes to have fun. He smirked at him.   
  
"Hello, Chester," he murmured.   
  
"Hey." Chester nodded and smiled, then visibly scoured the counter and the table top for something to warm him up.   
  
"Nice outfit, there."   
  
He paused in his search, his hand on the cabinet handle, to give a skeptical look at Kakarotto. Never would he dare to say that in Montgomery's presence; whether or not he'd hit you for saying it was negoticable, but the possibility for you to have to state it shouldn't even have to be considered. It wasn't something you'd ever need to say to Montgomery. Looking down at himself, Chester thought, well, no you wouldn't say that. This isn't a Montgomery kind of outfit. Kakarotto's comment, although vaguely rude, was humor, welcome humor.   
  
"Same to you," he replied, implying to the usual orange gi he wore.   
  
Kakarotto smiled lightly. "What are you looking for?" he asked. Chester shrugged, his eyes quickly scanning the contents of the cabinet. Raw spaghetti, cans of ravioli, a few bags of chips. All very tasty and wonderful snack foods, but none fit his mood right then.   
  
He turned to Kakarotto. He had lifted up the fat yellow envelope, inspecting it, Chester guessed, to make sure nothing had been damaged when he had dropped it in the snow. Then he turned around towards the sink, pulling a light blue towel off the neck of the faucet and wiped at his chest. Chester was pleased that he had creamed him so well. He was also pleased to see that a new opportunity had presented itself.   
  
Pushing himself away from the corner, he closed the distance between himself and the other Saiyajin in three long strides. Kakarotto turned, an inquiry about Bulma's whereabouts at the tip of his tongue, but the words never got out. Chester snaked his hand around to the nape of Kakarotto's head and pulled him closer. It was all autopilot now.   
  
He closed his eyes when he felt Kakarotto's lips. They were soft, but still chilly from the snow he rubbed in his face earlier. Chester smiled gently against his mouth, leaning back slightly and flicking out his tongue to lick the other's lower lip. Without waiting for consent, he slipped his tongue through his lips and through his teeth. Easily; Kakarotto hadn't moved much, in all likelyhood because he was still in shock. _Good_, he thought, standing up on his toes to deepen the kiss, steadying himself by resting one hand on Kakarotto's arm. He wanted more of this... this hot moisture, this exciting tranquility. It was a foreign intoxication that Chester was rarely fortunate enough to experience but was greedily accepted any time the opportunity became at his disposal.   
  
Finally, he felt a reaction. Just a bit — his tongue moved against quite agreeably, encouraging Chester even though it was just an experimental movement: _Is this really happening?_ He would have liked to continue, have more of a response, but just then, Kakarotto withdrew, resting his hands on Chester's shoulders to gently force him back. Chester didn't let Kakarotto go easily; he bit down softly on his tongue before slowly leaving, dragging his teeth against his tongue as he unwillingly left his mouth....   
  
Chester looked up, focusing his half-lidded eyes on Kakarotto's face. Kakarotto's eyes were dark, swirling with confusing. Not disgust, Chester noted, with that small pang of satisfaction he supposed the others often felt. Chester smiled slightly at him, wondering just _what_ the other was thinking right now. He was thinking about their posistion: standing in the middle of the kitchen, Kakarotto's hands on his shoulders, holding him at bay, one of his arms on Kakarotto's arms while the other wrapped around his head to curl in his hair.   
  
Kakarotto opened his mouth, as if to say something. Instead, he just ended up licking the saliva off his lower lip, and glancing away, the skin between his eyebrows creasing in worry. He dropped his arms, knocking Chester's grip off in doing so.   
  
"I... should go. Just give Bulma.. that—" He took a step back. Chester nodded.   
  
"You bet. Seeya around." Kakarotto looked back at him before quickly leaving the kitchen. Chester barely heard the door closed shut behind him.   
  
Chester realized with another twinge of satisfaction that he was no longer cold.   
  
  
  
Montgomery killed them all, once. Without their consent. His only possible excuse was that it was a desperate act, a last-minute decision that was only made with only the destruction of the enemy in mind. It had to be just a splurge of prowess; it _must_ have been! For if Montgomery had planned the suicide long before the actual act, none of them sensed the dark gloom that always hung over the poor soul. They were all familiar with that specific gloom. They had always sensed it, that feeling of impending darkness, when Vejiita had felt everything was just too far out of reach to ever get a hold of again.   
  
Those days had passed, for the most part. Vejiita, like most teenagers, had gone through his fair share of depression, each bout concluding with his attempting to take his own life. His grisly undertakings were always checked just in time, be it Chester or Montgomery stepping in or Vejiita simply losing his nerve. When he was older, he didn't toy with the thought of suicide that often, rarely bringing the half-formed thoughts into play. Just as rarely, however, was he actually himself.   
  
Rob tallied up his fair share of kills those years, from nineteen to thirty. Well... Perhaps not Rob, specifically. Rip was usually in charge of the arm, at least, that was responsible for death. Rip didn't care for ki. He'd just as happily throttle you until your windpipe tore through your larynx.   
  
Now, what had Chester said about him? That he wanted to kill Kakarotto? That wasn't necessarily true. He wished to destroy the threat that Kakarotto possibly represented. He had too. He had to destroy the threat that endangered himself, the _true_ threat. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what he was capable of; what he was uncertain of what he _wasn't_ capable of.   
  
He stood in the clearing before Kakarotto's house. Idly, tensely, he cracked his knuckles, the popping joints the only sound echoing through the twilight air. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled a harsh, shaking breath. He wasn't alarmed. He was always like that. Tense, but unlike Vejiita's skittish nervousness. Restless, but unlike him usually able to do something to bring his head to rest. Angry. Hot anger. He was tremulous from it.   
  
He was staring at Kakarotto's small house, all five senses reeling. This feeling he felt was overwhelming. He hadn't fought for a while. He didn't consider beating up an adolescent up fighting. It was just that: beating up. It was taking advantage of someone weaker than you, scared, perhaps staying still only out of respect.   
  
Respect. Whatever.   
  
There was a noise; the sound of a door slamming shut. Rob flinched intensely, smoothly sliding into a deep crouch. There he was! Walking around the side of his house to a sizeable stack of firewood. Rob's eyes were focused intensely on the large Saiyajin, and it didn't take too long for him to realize that he was being watched.   
  
  
  
Gokou paced the living room, restless. It seemed quiet in the house, which was unusual. He wasn't quite sure what made the difference; Goten still had rock music turned up full blast in his room, probably jumping on the bed playing the air-guitar behind a locked door. Chichi had been traveling back and forth across the living room from the soap opera on the television set to the door of Goten's room, murmuring to herself at the television characters and hollering at Goten to turn his music down.   
  
No... Nothing about the rest of his family was different. So it was him? What was different about him?   
  
Nothing, again. Except...   
  
Okay, he had to admit it. It _did_ bother him, it bothered him a lot. He wasn't bothered, however, by the lack of disgust he felt when he had kissed him. It.. was unusual to be kissed by a guy, but not at all unpleasant. He just didn't expect Vejiita to do it.   
  
Or... Chester? He didn't strike him as gay, either. He sighed and rubbed his neck in frustration. This whole thing was warping his mind! He had no idea what to expect from these guys! They all knew him — and after that encounter with Chester it appeared that he was quite well liked — but for him it was like talking to a complete stranger! A complete stranger who Vejiita's face and Vejiita's voice but with different look in his eyes...   
  
His musings sapping his strength, Gokou meandered into the kitchen and opened the door of the refrigerator, gazing into the chilly appliance without really seeing anything. He draped his arm across the door, drumming his fingers.   
  
_The look in his eyes...._   
  
He bit his lip and softly shut the door. Had he ever noticed before? Perhaps they had been too good in obscuring their separate identities. Or maybe he just never paid attention. Vejiita had always seemed to be a bit off-kilter somehow, but it was dismissed as just the way he was. Well... It was the way he was, but it wasn't something to dismiss. Gokou frowned and bit down deeper, actually feeling a bit of pain in his lower lip.   
  
Vejiita didn't know a damn thing about this.   
  
And the way everyone acted around him, he'd never learn. He nearly killed Trunks, but Bulma let it slide. He said he didn't do it, but that he was sorry anyway. For taking the blame of the other's transgression, he was released, but his otherwise innocent name was smeared. Now, as much or more than as when he first found himself stranded on Earth, he was eyed as a stranger, a threat. It was true; he was a time bomb that could go off at any moment, and nobody knew exactly what could set him off. It could be a sidelong look, a humorous remark taken the wrong way, even if it wasn't aimed directly at him. It didn't even have to be visible; Gokou thought he remembered Vejiita suddenly taking off or scream himself hoarse at someone during preparation for the Cell Games. No one had said or done anything but that didn't matter to him.   
  
He was hated, feared, rejected and avoided, and didn't know why. And wasn't about to ask.   
  
Gokou sighed and rubbed his face wearily; he was exhaused just thinking about it. Muttered half-heartedly to Chichi, he went to the bathroom, pulled off his shrit, found a towel, and went outside.   
  
Shortly before Goten was born, modern creature comforts had made their way to the Sons' conservative way of living, and Chichi had persuaded him to hired a company to install a full-functional lavatory. Gokou still found it recreational to bath the way he had for years: under the stars in a barrel filled to the top with boiling river water.   
  
Outside, he followed the well-worn trail to the barrel. While reaching for the firewood stacked up against the side of the house, summoning a small amount of ki to his finger tips, he realized that he was not quite alone.   
  
He felt different. He sensed a greater concentration of ki, but it was compressed, a swirling mass of furious power curbed by something Gokou couldn't quite fathom. He turned slowly, uncertain of what to see.   
  
He stood much closer than Gokou had estimated, only a few yards and wreathed by snowy deciduous trees. From the large clouds of air he exhaled into the chilly air, he could tell that he was breathing deep. He was still wearing that oversized sleeveless yellow shirt, but he had traded the orange knit shorts for some black jeans. His hands were clenched so hard that the knuckles were white and the veins in his arms had popped up twice their normal size.   
  
"Vejiita....?" Gokou hesitantly called out. He knew this wasn't Vejiita, but he didn't recognize this particular carriage.   
  
The stranger inhaled deeply, on exhale breathing, _"Kakarotto..."_   
  
"Yes.... Vejiita?" he repeated. The stranger shook his head. "What should I call you?"   
  
The tension in his shoulders visibly went lax. His eyes softened their probing stare; pensive. "Rob," he said shortly.   
  
Gokou nodded. He had thought such. He took a deep breath, dreading future battle with this violent Saiyajin. "I don't want to fight you." Best make that clear from the start   
  
Rob's eyes snapped up. "That... so..." he murmured. Again, he nodded. "Why not?"   
  
"Why would I want to?"   
  
"You do."   
  
"Because I have to," he said after a moment. "Or want to. Practice, for fun, or to save people."   
  
Rob's face was like a wall: blank, hard. Gokou had no idea what he was thinking.   
  
Slowly, he brought up his arm. He was shaking, from the tension that went hand-in-hand along with his appearence, and from simply trying to control himself. Chester was right; attacking Trunks had rekindled his love for bloodsports.   
  
But....   
  
Of all the people Rob had met and slain, of all the rotten, useless souls out there, Chester was his favorite. It could be that he was just oozing with charisma or that it had bled into Rob's mind throughout his entire tentative existence that Chester could not be detroyed and would never go away, but Rob didn't want to make him too angry.   
  
All the same...   
  
Rob gathered the ki into the palm of his hand, grinning when he allowed the unprotected flesh of his hand to be burnt and blistered. Gokou was staring into a fiery ball of Rob: his anger, his hate, a lifetime of treasured punishment and blissful murder. He was staring into evil and he didn't even blink. He was naked from the waist up, his ki was resting at a low leisurely level, nothing but his skin to protect him should Rob fire.   
  
They stood there, Gokou a target at point-blank for Rob. Rob, ignoring the spasming of his arm, was staring deadpan into Kakarotto's eyes. _You blink, you die._   
  
But he didn't. He held his gaze steadily, and after a moment, Rob closed his fingers around the ball of energy and it burnt out. He had passed the test.   
  
If he could stare into possible death that way, and know that all it took was a thought triggered by a maniac who had far too many homicides under his belt, and reminisced of those old kills with a smile on his face.... Well, then he couldn't be that dangerous. No fear, no reason to act out. Rob wiped the charrred flesh of his hand off. If he wasn't thought of as a threat, then there was no reason to feel threatened.   
  
Rob turned and left.   
  
  
  
Bulma came home close to eleven that night. She was exhausted, but her mind was gone a mile a minute; that was quite the intriguing business dinner! She was sure she wasn't going to get any sleep that night. Too many random, cluttered ideas had suddenly come together during dinner, inspired by her date's ingenious mind.   
  
She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her coat in the entry way, slipping silently through the dark hallway into the kitchen to brew some coffee. Most often, the body refused to obey the mind's wants; she would need to convince it otherwise. Some caffine always did the trick.   
  
Walking swiftly over to the coffee machine, intent on getting small chores done as quickly as possible, she brushed the edge of the table and knocked something off. Annoyed that one of the kids had left homework in the kitchen, she quickly turned and picked it up. It was a large yellow envelope, bulging with papers. She caught her name in the upper right hand corner and recognized the handwriting.   
  
Her mind went blank, all thoughts of coffee and midnight inventing having evaporated. Here was the information she had asked Gohan to research! As a medical doctor, Gohan was more familiar with people than Bulma and she had asked him to check up on a few key subjects when he had a spare moment. She was pleased that he had done so, and so quickly.   
  
Unfolding the bendable clip at the top of the envelope back, she withdrew stacks of stapled together papers of printed-out information from Internet sites and photocopied pages from older resources.   
  
The first stack read, _Disorders of the Mind..._   
  
  
  
  
_**notes:** ok... this is where the song after which this entire fic is loosely based and named actually starts to show. to read the lyrics, please go here: http://www.geocities.com/coraigu/reason.html_


	11. COWARDICE

_edited and re-uploaded on the fourteenthh of february. thanks darke. **warnings** are for drug-use and maybe non-con and some darkness._   
  
  
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Rhyme & Reason 10:   
[ C O W A R D I C E ]  


**  
  
  


He stared at the back of his shirt, a bright yellow bounding through the thick forest, quickly disappearing. Gokou didn't dare exhale until Vejiita was completely out of sight and even then it was a shaky breath. So close to death, so many times and it still proved to make you appreciate the next day that much more. He had faced off against Vejiita many times in the past and this time he was positive he had never gone against _him_ before. That delirious look in Rob's gleaming eyes was one he knew he would have immediately recognized   
  
He shivered and rubbed his arms, heading back to his home. It was really quite to chilly to be outside without a shirt on, anyway.   
  
  
  
He was running, flat-out running away from him. Neither was a threat to one another but that scarcely meant he wouldn't cut him down out of spite. That went both ways. Killing or being killed. Rob did it out of Chester's sake.   
  
So here he was, running through the thick forest with wild abandon, tearing through thick shrubbery, scratching his face and his arms and rocketing over fallen logs, rotting and damp from melting snow, occasionally tripping and crashing into the earth. The adrenalin was pumping through his veins, giving him a scary rush, not unlike the rushes Chester and Craig concocted out of substances. He was savage, uncaged and free, foaming at the mouth.   
  
He licked his dry lips, tasting the salt of his sweat and the metallic tang of the blood. His breath came in great heaves and in the back of his throat he tasted another suggestion of blood and salt. It had been too long since he had sprinted over rough terrain; his lungs were working hard again. He grinned, lips cracking and wiped his brow. It felt good, though.   
  
Rob thought he could have gone on running forever. The pain, he could ignore. The exhaustion that told him to _stop_ before it was too late, before he collapsed as a shivering pile of fatigue and bones. Running from no one for any good reason to nowhere in particular.   
  
He came to a sudden stop, skidding to a halt and nearly flipping over. All too suddenly, the wild forest had come to an end and Rob found himself just two feet away from stepping on a gravelly surface, which he was sure would be less yielding than the mud if he should trip. A metal monster roared by and he was quick to leap backwards into the snowy ditch. Dammit, the road.   
  
Ah, well. He could use the rest. Not really, but he'd take advantage of the opening for some rest. Rob curled his fingers together, ignoring how rough the skin felt when he rubbed two digits together and starting walking. He walked in the ditch, which he knew would grant a much more taxing journey than walking on the margins of the road. Where was he going? He wasn't sure as to which direction – north, south, east, west – only now it was left or right. He chose left, keeping in the ditch.   
  
  
  
It was one of the more unpleasant ways that he remembered having been jarred into existence. From darkness, to a different type of darkness he had only a few moments of peace and scattered confusion before blinding lights backed by unyielding metal slam solidly into his side. He held his stance for a moment until the valley-shaped ditch he was in worked against his balance. He fell back into reasonably soft dirt but, as was his luck, he hit his elbow against a misplaced rock. The feeling in that arm was replaced with a less desirable tingling.   
  
He sat up, squinting through the headlights and trying to focus on the indistinct shape that was making unclear noises. Jerked up by his half-dead arm, he nearly crashed his forehead into Craig's. He finally made out coherent words through the garble: "What are you doing out here?"   
  
Vejiita took a step back, pulling himself free. He was limping a bit, he noticed; he expected quite the unpleasant bruise on his thigh in the morning. "I don't know..." He still couldn't see Craigie's face, silhouetted by the headlights. He did not bother to volunteer any desired information. Vejiita just knew that he found himself riding shotgun in an old coupe that stank of pot. And had ripped upholstery, he noted, inattentively picking the cushioning oozing from it.   
  
Nighttime, Vejiita thought to himself, pulling more fuzz from the seat. Of what day? He glanced out the window. The upper half of the window had been broken out and was replaced by strips of duct tape, but he still see out. It wasn't very cloudy but just enough to keep Earth's only natural satellite obstructed. He could not calculate the time of the month.   
  
Feh. What good would it do when he had no idea what month it was?   
  
  
  
"No. He didn't say where he was going. He didn't say much at all."   
  
His voice seemed to echo around the room, reverberating off the walls and ceiling before the empty sound finally made it back to his ears. The only light was the outdoor light, left on and shining in through the open door. Not to mention the anxiety was slowly filling him, only made worse by the winter air flowing in. All of this strengthened the affect of being in a dark, cold cave.   
  
"Well, what did he do?" persisted the voice on the other line. Gokou could easily imagine her probing blue eyes staring up at him with a mixture of impatience and anxiety even through miles of phone line. He fidgeted, not wanting to answer and hoping she could not sense his actions the way he could almost sense hers.   
  
He curled the phone cord around his index finger. "He just... came by."   
  
"And...?" The impatience was overriding the worry. Gokou let the phone cord spiral free and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about Rob...   
  
"We talked... And then he left."   
  
"Did he say anything? What he was going to do?"   
  
"No.. Nothing. He just turned and ran."   
  
Silence on the other end.   
  
"I'll be right there, Gokou. Don't go anywhere."   
  
The line was dead before the words registered. He dropped the phone back into the receiver, nearly missing to drop it on the floor. He moved away from the phone table and sat down onto the couch. He was still shirtless, never having gotten around to redressing after the encounter with Rob. Never got around to that bath, either, even though he could really use that calm soak outside. Not only was his body drenched with a gritty layer of sweat, but also his knees were weak and heavy and he swore that his hands were shaking.   
  
He hadn't been scared just for himself but for Chichi and Goten, who were just a few feet away. If Rob had killed him there would have been no hope; Goten was strong, but not strong enough. Chichi wasn't a proper fighter. And even now, he was quite sure that neither of them knew Vejiita's body had hauled itself here under the authority of another.   
  
A killer, specifically....   
  
  
  
Fading. In.   
  
And out.   
  
Then – the sound of a car door slamming shut, the noise like thunder in his ears.   
  
Out. In.   
  
Walking across a large gravel driveway, eyes glued to the scuffed heels of someone's shoes.   
  
He inhaled deeply, deeper than he should have to breathe and shakily let the breath out. He shouldn't be breathing so hard, he realized, his heart thundering in chest, his hearing thrown out the window, the pulse was so strong. And the adrenaline —   
  
Out.   
  
In again – _drowning._ Heart pounding just as wildly as before, he just barely checked his instinct not to breathe in time. He threw his head back, gasping, feeling lukewarm water drip down his neck and over his brow into his eyes, which were wide open and staring into a water-stained ceiling.   
  
_Noise._ Racket. His head still craned backwards, his hammering heartbeat tight against his throat, he strained his eyes to the right, focusing through the dripping water on a door whose paint was peeling. He relaxed, bowing his head forward. A sink full of water, the faucet still running. He was in a bathroom and there were loud people somewhere beyond that door. He swallowed and tried to calm his breath, reaching out to pull the plug and turn off the water. He stumbled towards the door, snatching a towel off the rack at the last minute and drying his face off.   
  
He stepped through the door. Looking around sniffing absently, he took a moment to take in his surroundings, eyes adjusting to the dimness. He dropped the towel carelessly. A house full of strangers. Curled with each another on the couch, slumped against the walls, smoking. An active pair rudely shouldered past him, jostling him. Someone else dashed past him into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He scarcely noticed. He shivered, the water he had missed on his neck chilling him. He breathed in, feeling his lungs and diaphragm expanding. A lingering stitch suddenly shot up to a very noticeable ache. He sighed and let it out slowly.   
  
Someone suddenly had a hold on him, strong fingers wrapping around his elbow and pulling him into the light, shoving him so they were both slumping against a wall. Vejiita was facing the light, a lamp with a crooked shade and the other's face was partially silhouetted. He jerked his elbow away; it hurt. He must have somehow hit it. He was released immediately. Touching with his other hand, he felt his elbow for why it possibly stung. Vejiita couldn't see it in the dark light but he knew that he had somehow hit his elbow hard enough to break the skin.   
  
He stared blankly at the other man; he was caught, what did he want? The other grinned around an unlit cigarette and suddenly pulled back his arm and shot forward, his fist propelling solidly into Vejiita's nose. It wasn't a hard punch, considering it was his _nose_ but it was unexpected and Vejiita was hardly up to sorts. He jerked back, hands rising to the crushed cartilage. There wasn't much he could do besides make sure it didn't all fall apart and inhale blood.   
  
"Why did you do that?" he gargled out, leaning forward and cupping his hand under his nose to catch the dripping blood.   
  
The other man frowned. He recognized him as Craig now. "Payback."   
  
"Payback?"   
  
"For hitting me. Hey, why don't you put your head back instead of bleeding all over the place?"   
  
Vejiita shut his eyes. He'd never hit Craig, at least not lately or in any way that mattered. They were always ripping on each other – Or Craig just ripping on him and Vejiita playing along. He didn't say that, though. "I don't like blood running down the back of my throat."   
  
"Uh huh, sure." Vejiita sniffed and leaned back then, straightening his body but kept his head bowed still. His cupped palm was overflowing with blood, the red liquid dripping through his fingers and down his wrist. He refused to look at Craig. After a moment, Craig sighed. "Fine, look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to hit you..."   
  
"Hnn.... Forgiven," he muttered, his voice nasal. He glanced up at Craig, for the first time noticing the dark coloring on his left temple. Craig nodded and pulled him to the kitchen.   
  
  
  
Bulma was there within the hour – only quarter to midnight, now – her car swerving as she slammed the brakes on too suddenly in the Son driveway. Her entry to the house, however, was far more dignified even though the look in her eyes may have said differently. Gokou, too caught up in his own thoughts or just absentminded had failed to tell Chichi and Goten that she was coming, so even though her arrival was unexpected she was not unwelcome. Even so, she only gave Chichi a brief nod and a thin smile; she wasn't here for pleasure but for business.   
  
It had been a restless wait for Gokou. He had gone from staring at the phone on the couch to standing at the doorway of the bathroom, considering a quick shower, to finally pulling up a chair and staring at the mute television. The hour seemed long then but so short in hindsight. When Bulma finally arrived he followed her into the kitchen, shrugging unenthusiastically towards Chichi. She flashed him a dirty look went back to bed, too tired and hot-tempered to deal with either Gokou or Bulma.   
  
Bulma dropped something on the table, looked around as if to make sure they were alone. Gokou recognized the discarded item as being the envelope he delivered a few days ago, only now it looked more used and bloated. He hadn't looked through it when it was in his possession – he had figured its contents to be some technical documents – and he had no idea why the fat envelope was in his house again. He stood silent, waiting for her to start.   
  
She started off slowly, drawing in a breath and hesitating before she spoke. "Gokou," she started off, "the reason I wanted to come over here, instead of discussing this over the phone, was, well..." She stopped at this point, reaching over and bending back the pin on the envelope and opening it up. First, she extracted stacks of important-looking papers, stapled and paper-clipped and folded together. She glanced at them then set them aside, placing the text face down. Then she pulled from the envelope what she wanted. It seemed to be a book of some sort; crude, handmade, its twenty or so pages taped together on one side. She held the book deftly in her hands for a moment, uncertain, before finally transferring it to Gokou.   
  
The book seemed delicate, wrinkled and ripped. On the first page, the cover, on the very top were seven large, foreign symbols. They seemed vaguely familiar; he remembered in a flash a turquoise and pink shirt that had "girls girls girls" written across the front in symbols very similar to the ones on paper. A language, Vejiita's language. There wasn't much else on the cover; the words took up almost a quarter of it and the rest was an obscure, dark drawing of some sort of dagger.   
  
"Here," Bulma muttered, patience wearing thin at his simple staring. "Open it, look." She took the corner of the first pencil-smeared page and peeled it back.   
  
A page full of drawings, each one separated from another by boxes, in panels. Gokou could tell already that this was going to be a dark manga, each square shaded in so thoroughly with the flat side of a pencil that the scenery it was close to black. He studied the images closely, picking up on a lone symbol of Vejiita's language here and there. He had no idea what they meant but considering that they were often written near a certain character's face he made a wild guess that it was someone's thoughts or words.   
  
He turned the page. Hmm.. Even being ignorant to the alien language, Gokou had already picked up the general lay out of the story by the pictures. And he wasn't sure that he liked it. Too much darkness, the only other color besides black and gray being red. Red ink.... representing blood... brought forth by the sharp blade of a knife. He should have been able to guess the contents of this comic book by the lone dagger on the cover.   
  
It was a short story, two and a half pages long, the ending with the only character introduced apparently killing himself. Gokou studied the last panel much longer than he felt was suitable but the cryptic concept of death was so expertly depicted in the small square that he found himself frighteningly unable to look away.   
  
Bulma seemed to notice his daze and snaked a finger out and pointed to a scrawl beneath the last panel. "Look at the signature," she instructed. He did so, bringing the book up closer to his face to read the tiny endorsement. It was in English but he could barely make out any of the letters following the capital V. Of course, he knew what the name was. And now he knew Vejiita drew this.. thing...   
  
He glanced up at Bulma. "There's more," she told him, her voice low, "but none as bad as that. Keep going," she pressed.   
  
Gokou sighed. He wasn't sure to take her word that the rest of the papers didn't flaunt such grim situations. However, doing as told and flipping the page he found himself studying a _much_ different style of art, not sleek or dark at all like the story of the shadowy cutter. Now, the images varied from sketches of vaguely humanoid machines to different styles of letter, both English and otherwise, to cartoon-like people.   
  
On the opposite side of the page of sketches was the beginning of a new story. This one featured more characters; mostly women and few men in what seemed to be in a space ship-like setting. This story was also in a foreign language but had more dialogue, the lettering large and loopy. Words or no words, the entire story seemed quite silly. Like the first one, a signature was written at the last panel. It was different, though. This one read simply C.H. V. A date followed the letters, stating that the little comic was completed on January seventh of the current year.   
  
There were no more short little stories past the eighth page. The ninth page was a note of some sort, the forced, angular writing a mixture of English and another. The remaining pages were more drawings, of cars, buildings, body parts, flames. To Gokou, they seemed to be nothing more than a collection of random drawings.   
  
Finished, he looked up at Bulma wondering what this about and not sure if he cared to know. But she seemed to want a response from him, her eyebrows raised expectantly and her arms crossed.   
  
"What is this?" Gokou finally said.   
  
"I found all that," she answered, "in his room. Everywhere, papers, junk."   
  
"But why did you bring them?"   
  
She sighed loudly and snatched the little book back. "Don't you see? I found this all in Vejiita's room! It's obvious he wrote it all!"   
  
"Yeah... He draws well." He frowned. He knew that Bulma hadn't brought samples of Vejiita's artwork to show off his artistic skill.   
  
"Yes, he draws very well, Gokou," she agreed. "Didn't you pick up how all the pictures look different from one another? No one else drew them, either. I tore a few of them out of other sketch books." She pulled up a chair from the table and sat down. "This leads us to my next point."   
  
Gokou knew what was coming as she picked up the papers she had set off to the side. Phrases and words like "trauma" and "distinct personalities" jumped up at him, distinguished from the rest of the text by bright yellow highlights or pronounced underlines. She flipped through the pages almost idly, speaking as she searched for one specific passage.   
  
"You know as well as I do that something is up with him," she told him, finding the hidden pages and pulling them loose from the others. "I haven't had much time myself to worry about it until recently and even then I had to ask Gohan to help me out." Gokou nodded. "Rhys Schultz," she said, drawing in a deep breath, "is an entirely separate person. Or, more accurately, Rhys is an entirely separate personality than Vejiita."   
  
For the next forty minutes, Gokou's half-formed thoughts were completed and suspicions were confirmed, or steered towards the right direction at any rate. He was fed technical information, names and reasons given to actions and words recently witnessed. Vejiita's quirks were revealed to be a diagnosed disorder, a disturbance of the mind. Dissociative identity disorder. Multiple personalities, all in one body. Gokou had met them all. Had even had some too-close-for-comfort encounters with a few of them.   
  
He could even name them: Montgomery, Chester, Rhys, Rob, Rip. Half a dozen people in one body and most of them too aggressive for their own good. He was surprised that Vejiita had survived over forty years without a dominance struggle breaking out between them all. The stability between the selves within the precarious Vejiita was amazing.   
  
A break in the drawl and Gokou finally said, "I know."   
  
"'I know?'" Bulma repeated. She glanced up from the list of past cases. "You know what?"   
  
"What you're talking about. It's true." He waited expectantly. Bulma eyes narrowed, blue irises deep in thought.   
  
"So you knew all this," she said slowly, "and didn't say anything?"   
  
Gokou felt a pang of guilt but flushed it out with logic. Bulma herself had engaged in conversation with Rhys Schultz and had failed to do any more about it than request that Gohan do some after-hours research on topics that she'd had a hunch on, and that was only after a few of the selves had gone haywire on Trunks. And it wasn't just Bulma's indifference and Gokou's personal loss at what to do with a predicament such as this that was to blame here. The bottom line was they just hadn't thought it a problem. Chester was perfectly healthy, though a bit tipsy and Montgomery was as normal as the preconceived Vejiita.   
  
He had known everything and still had allowed himself to be deceived. What a fool.   
  
His hand automatically came up to his head, rubbing at his ear in a nervous gesture and he shrugged. "I didn't know what to say." His eyes darted down to the book, full of Vejiita's various talents.   
  
Bulma sighed and let it drop. The important thing now was to _do_ something about it, not mull over past mistakes. She said, "This is a serious illness. Now that we know what it is, I think it's important we let Vejiita know."   
  
Gokou nodded in agreement. "We should ask Craig, too," he suggested, thinking about how much he was around Vejiita. He certainly, if anything, could provide a different point of view to some occurrences. Bulma halted, thrown off topic by the mentioning of Craig.   
  
"Oh, yes," she finally said, almost aloofly. "That would be a good idea." She nodded to herself, consenting to an interview.   
  
"Alright." He thought that posing questions about Vejiita to Craig would be more than a good idea. After all, with whom had Vejiita up? Where was Vejiita always found? Who seemed to be his first choice to seek out when he ran into trouble? Certainly, Craig wasn't the best choice but just as certainly it proved where Vejiita's loyalties lied. And, be it Vejiita or Chester or whoever else was lurking under the skin, there was a bond between the two Saiyajin that Gokou couldn't hope to understand.   
  
  
  
Craig had positioned him in front of the sink and turned his back for a moment. Vejiita wrapped an arm around his stomach, one hand still catching the dripping blood. He hated getting his nose hit. It hurt his whole face. He swore, his eyes were actually tearing up. He dared to look up, tearing his eyes away from the hole in the collar of Craig's blue polo shirt. Looked around, inspected the kitchen. There was Craig and also someone scavenging through a large avocado-colored refrigerator. Feeling Vejiita stare at his back he suddenly swung around. He glowered at Vejiita, dark brown eyes narrowing in hostility. _You do not belong here._ Then he swung around and left.   
  
"Here."   
  
Craig's damp fingers wrapped around his bloody wrist, pulling his hand from his face and pressing something cold and wet against his nose. He recoiled but Craig held him fast, murmuring an annoyed, "Quit it, I'm helpin' ya, you idiot." Vejiita shoved him away and finished cleaning up his face by himself.   
  
It took awhile. He leaned over the sink, his face feeling hot, watching the dark red blood drip from his nose and into the metal lining until his head decided to stop leaking. By that time Vejiita had gone through his fair share of water- and blood-soaked paper towels, having continually wiped up the blood so it didn't start to drip down his face. He left the mess when he was finished.   
  
He sniffed and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. It was dark, if not darker than it had been earlier. There had been people about, sprawled on the floor and against the walls. Now there were only a few around, their bodies vaguely defined and only visible by a blueish light — coming from a television set, he soon realized. There was always some sort of appliance left on when Craig was around.   
  
An arm slithered around his waist and squeezed affectionately. Speak of the devil.   
  
"How's the face?" he asked.   
  
"Better before you hit it," he replied. Craig shrugged. Vejiita allowed his arm to remain looped around his body. Instead of shaking him loose, he reached up and poked him in the side of his head. Craig flinched and closed one eye, swatting the hand away.   
  
"Stop that dammit."   
  
His arm slid off and reattached to Vejiita's wrist. He pulled him forward and Vejiita shadowed him, wiping at his nose uneasily. He still wasn't quite convinced that it had stopped bleeding.   
  
The house was larger than Vejiita had earlier supposed. More than a nice-sized living room and a bathroom with peeling paint and a kitchen with a bloody sink. He was led over discarded shoes and shirts, over pillows and blankets and TV guides. Craig's grip tightened, fingernails digging into the tendons of his wrist as if he had to keep a hold of him for fear that he should escape.   
  
He wasn't even thinking of escaping. Farthest thought from his head.   
  
On the far side of the room was a dark-colored sofa free of all but two people, who were currently draped over the armrest on the far-left side. He sat down on the sofa and craned his head back against the headrest, staring up at the dark ceiling.   
  
Something smooth and cold was pressed against the palm of his hand, his fingers automatically curling over it. "Watch it," Craig warned from beside him. Vejiita glanced at him, the burning tip of the cigarette, now lit, and then at his hand. A needle. He glanced back up at the other skeptically.   
  
"What?" Craig said. "You asked for one."   
  
"I did not." He was tempted to drop the nasty thing.   
  
Craig inhaled sharply and when he replied, after another moment, smoke came out with his words. "Over the sink, two fucking min — oh." His voice dropped suddenly. Vejiita looked away quickly, focusing on the shining tip of the needle. Craig stuttered for only a moment, the realization of who really asked for a needle becoming clearer while Vejiita was doing his best not to even think of it. His fingers trembled, tightening around the glass.   
  
"Oh, come on," said Craig, impatience overriding the hesitant concern of the two conflicting statements coming from his friend, "just take it, can't hurt, now can it?"   
  
Vejiita rotated the needle around between his fingers, adjusting it so his hand held the instrument in a manner ready to inject. "What is it?"   
  
"The usual," Craig replied. He paused. "I don't quite remember the name."   
  
"That's okay," Vejiita muttered. A searing ache twisted in his gut, centered just below his rib cage on the right side. He let out a shaky breath, resisting the urge to move forward to try to suppress the pain. He had hoped when he was younger that these occasional, sudden cramps would be outgrown someday. Never happened. But he always deluded himself. With everything.   
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping and knowing Craig hadn't noticed. He didn't want to cry. Not now. Not like this. The needle.. It felt so familiar in his hand. He hadn't done drugs like this since he was eighteen or nineteen or so. And even then he hadn't been a frequent druggie.   
  
He opened his eyes back up and slanted a look at Craig. He was amusing himself with the cigarette. Vejiita scooted away from him. He felt like he was breaking a promise or something by doing this. Almost dirty. It was wrong, he knew. Illegal, but that wasn't what was wrong about it. He sighed and shook his head.   
  
Resolved, he lowered the needle.   
  
Yes, he knew what this was. 'The usual.' He needed no explanation further than that. He felt a... need. A craving. A shiver running up and down his spine, making him break out in a nerve-shaking cold sweat. His hand was shaking and he felt like his mind was going a mile a minute —   
  
Then all came to a lurching halt.   
  
Venom. Poison. He was destroying himself all over again. A path of self-destruction, picking right back up from thirty years ago. Or... Was it only a few days past?   
  
  
  
A dream or a memory. One of these two distortions of the mind's eye was what it was and the dream could be a memory at the same time. How was he to tell? He felt like crying. What was he thinking last night? Did he honestly hope that taking a drug that rendered senses useless would _help_ him? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now he was even more screwed. The only up side to this was that he actually knew what happened.   
  
If that _was_ a good thing.   
  
He found himself cringing and laying his head on his folded arms. He had been knocked off the couch a while ago; when, he had no idea. Insignificant things like falling off furniture were, unfortunately, not the types of things he remembered.   
  
_No,_ he thought firmly. _Just a nightmare. You got sick._   
  
But... Nightmares don't undo your pants. Or leave your arms speckled with red and bruising spots or make your sides ache with red nail scratches, just barely breaking the skin. Nightmares don't forcibly shove you off the couch you had been dozing on and leave you on the floor. Nightmares don't have hands.   
  
The minutes after he had pressed the plunger down and withdrawn a moment later with an empty needle were tense moments. This was an escape with which he was no longer familiar. Slowly, though, he felt the anxiety slither out of his brain as easily as tight muscles were massaged smooth. He felt his heart thud slower and heavier in his chest and felt a murky drowsiness stealing what vigilance he had in the first place.   
  
It was quiet, a feeling akin to placidity. Silent, save a strange sort of ticking that he supposed was his own mind talking to itself. Sight was limited to dark blurs here and there. Touch — he couldn't even describe it.   
  
A mere pressure at first, nothing to be intimidated or excited by. On his wrist, pressed into the palm of his hand. Then the pressure slid up his arms — there he felt the first pinch. It scraped along his bare shoulder and to his back, pulling him close. Breathing was cut short, something warm and sour stifling life.   
  
He didn't even have the sense to push away.   
  
He should have. And after a moment, he did but he must have stayed still too long. Must have allowed the tongue, and encouraged its presence in his mouth for its owner to take a hint and leave him alone. Instead, his refusal was misunderstood and the next thing he knew he was rendered blind, some sort of cloth wrapped around his head, just being tied in a knot in the back of his head. Resisting hands were held down, arms pinched in reprimand.   
  
Here, sitting shoved in the space between the side of the sofa and the entertainment center, Vejiita was almost glad that even though he had some vague recollection; some parts, probably the worst, were still lost to him. He mostly remembered hands. Hands and nails and pinching fingers. Sometimes, teeth had scraped across his skin, occasionally breaking it and breath against his wet skin making him shiver.   
  
Vejiita cracked his eyes open, turned his head so he was looking to the side. He moaned softly. He was still blindfolded but didn't have the energy to pull it down. So he just slipped to an uneasy sleep.   
  
  
  
At about three a.m. Bulma suddenly sat up, the wooden chair she sat in scraping loudly against the floor successfully shocking Gokou out of his stupor-like musing. Inwardly he shook his head clear of the clouds that taken over his mind, freeing himself of baffling thoughts that made sense and contradicted each other at the same time. _Sleep,_ he thought staring up at Bulma, _I need some sleep._ He said, "What is it, Bulma?"   
  
Her eyes were serious, edging on harshness and her voice lacked the slurring fatigue Gokou knew distorted his own. "Vejiita," she said, "we don't even know where he is." Instinctively, that ki-related sixth sense reached out, a habit beyond his control.   
  
"Yeah, kinda," he said, getting a general location and pinpointing on it.   
  
Bulma had been around him long enough to understand what he meant. "Get up, let's go," she said.   
  
Gokou may have been particularly tired earlier but leave it to the sharp, night air to snap him out of it. Almost like caffeine. However, he did not protest when Bulma insisted on the car as a means of transportation opposed to taking to the air with Gokou carrying her.   
  
Fifty-some miles northwest of Gokou's home the car's wheels hit smooth pavement. It was a road neither of them was familiar with, it's route being one nobody had ever had a reason to follow before. But loyally, Bulma followed his instructions hoping that Vejiita wasn't off somewhere in the thick brush that bordered the highway on either side. They drove noiselessly, conversation stifled and the radio muted.   
  
An hour and half later, Gokou jerked himself awake from a doze. It was barely dawn and the light was dim enough to make it difficult to determine whether it was still dark or light yet. He looked out the window, noting that the thick forest that sheltered his home had thinned out considerably. Houses were built among scattered, low bushes and strangled-looking trees.   
  
Vejiita's ki re-snarled itself in Gokou's psyche and, spotting a large green sign with the words "Exit 160" on it, he cleared his throat and said, "Turn, here."   
  
"What?" she glanced over at him, surprised he was awake. The exit had come up fast but she swerved and made it. "Looks like a town," she commented, after driving down a short winding road that the exit lead to. Gokou nodded. A pretty dumpy town, at that, made up mostly of bars and houses that looked like they were on their last wing.   
  
"He is somewhere near here," Gokou said certainly. "Turn left."   
  
It was one of the largest houses in the town, if not the newest, built at the end of a short dead-end road. There were three cars parked in the dirt-and-gravel driveway. A small, gray car that had seen better days, a large white pickup truck and a dark blue station wagon, speckled with rust spots. A large black dog, almost invisible in the dim light, lurked between the vehicles, dragging a broken chain from its collar. It gave the new arrivals, parked a safe distance away from the other cars, merely an indifferent sniff.   
  
Bulma sighed, unbuckled her seatbelt, shoved the door open and stretched. They had been in the car for a good two hours. Gokou quickly followed her actions then trailed her up the steps of the already-deteriorating porch. They hesitated at the door. Despite the chilliness of the morning only the screen door was blocking entry.   
  
Inside it was dark, the air thick and difficult to breathe. There were very few people in sight. Just a silent television, couches, and, to the side, a slight view of a kitchen, the only light source. Since he was the only one who had a good idea of where Vejiita was, Gokou stepped forward and approached the largest couch, his face becoming tinted whitish blue from the light of the TV. Bulma was at his heels.   
  
There he was. He was sitting between the small space, back resting against the wall and his knees partially drawn up. The shirt he was wearing was bloodstained and ripped at the collar, and a floor lamp had been knocked over, tilted and resting against the top of a CD rack, increasing the feeling of disarray. They approached him hesitantly, eyeing the blindfold with distaste.   
  
It was almost painful to look at him, his head tossed back, low, groaning noises rumbling from his throat. He didn't seem quite awake but was obviously aware of their presence, to a point. One arm, pale under the influence of the blaring TV, rose up to loosen and pull the blindfold from his eyes. He squinted at them then ducked his head again.   
  
Gokou heard Bulma suck in a breath but made no movement towards Vejiita. So he stepped forward instead, taking hold of Vejiita around the wrist. The plan was to pull him up out of the corner and get him out of this place but the put-down Saiyajin didn't care for the help.   
  
Twisting his arm away and dropping it in his lap, he tilted his head up to stare up at the two shadow-like figures through cloudy eyes. Vejiita didn't feel as if he could be bothered by these people. He _couldn't_ be.   
  
Inexplicably, he felt himself becoming drowsy. The figures before him darkened and became indistinct, and he was sure, in that detached sort of way, that he would have been gone for a time had it not been for that bothersome murmuring of their voices. He was yanked fully from the stupor when two hands gripped his biceps, more certainly and forcefully than before. He was successfully hauled to his feet.   
  
Sight came back in a painful and nauseating flash but Vejiita managed to hold in the sparse contents of his stomach and focus. Pulling the blindfold down fully, so it hung around his neck, he leaned against the armrest of the couch and stared up at his apparent "rescuers".   
  
They stared back.   
  
Then the woman, the girl he knew so well took his hand, gently convincing him to come with her. Standing, however, proved to be as uncomfortable as looking around and Bulma soon realized that she couldn't support him long enough to make it to the car. Gokou stepped forward looping his arm under Vejiita's to hold him up. Vejiita didn't help the awkward situation out of the house, leaning away from Gokou. The taller Saiyajin got an earful of muttered obscenities.   
  
"Hey..." They paused and turned around at the soft voice. Gokou recognized Craig instantly, leaning against the entry way to the kitchen. He had a pained expression on his face. "Where are you taking him?"   
  
"Just back home," Gokou answered.   
  
"Can I come with?"   
  
Gokou nodded. "Sure you can. I don't see why not." Bulma made no objection, after all. Craig nodded and trailed them out the door, scooted ahead of the trio when they descended the stairs. While he waited for them, the large black dog came from beneath the white truck. Craig gave it a pat on the nose. All the same, he seemed awful skittish — a bad sign, Gokou took it, considering the outlandish Saiyajin's usual behavior. But in the backseat of the car, into which he enthusiastically dove, he seemed more at home, practically curling up at Vejiita's side. Again Bulma drove, back to Capsule Corp. Gokou assumed and he kept half an eye on the two in the back seat.   
  
Craig was asleep within seconds but Vejiita, still not looking quite in his element, gazed out the window, eyes half lidded. Tired, if anything, Gokou hoped. That was his blood there, on his shirt and he had the busted up nose to prove it. He must have been in a fight after he left Gokou's home.   
  
Fortunately, the trip to Capsule Corp. did not take as long to the trip to the house Vejiita crashed at, but it was still a good hour-long trip. Not that Vejiita really noticed. He _wanted_ to be out of it, wanted to leave and never know he left. He wanted to be dead. Montgomery wanted to be dead. Montgomery nearly killed him — again.   
  
Montgomery even came around once, in the back seat of the car. He tugged himself free of the tangling strings that kept him at bay, broke through the mesh that wanted him silent and opened his eyes. He just wanted to look around a bit. He looked at his hands. Dirt was caught under the fingernails. The callouses on his wrists had been picked at, red spots of insignificant pain shown where the skin had been bothered too much. Arms — speckled red and blue and green, bruises forming.   
  
He felt eyes on him.   
  
Kakarotto.   
  
Montgomery gave him the most damning malicious glower he could produce, considering the circumstances. Observing Kakarotto's sudden offended expression, he decided that the point had been taken. Damned if he was going to let that bastard stare at him like that. He didn't take pride in what he was doing. ...has been doing for longer than he felt proud of.... But don't think for a moment that he was going to let _others_ judge him like this. It was all Rob's stupid mercy and Vejiita's damn cowardice —   
  
Okay, Montgomery would admit it. He wanted oblivion as much as the other Saiyajin did. Vejiita _always_ got it, the coward. Whenever he felt over his head or uncertain, they'd take over. Whenever something scared him, however so faintly, they came to the rescue. Montgomery had no such defense against the feared. He just had that needle.   
  
And with that needle, he'd never gotten _that_ out-of-it before....! Oh shit, he was so mad and unable to become angry at the same time he couldn't even stand it. Narrowing his eyes at the back of Kakarotto's seat, he slipped back into a trance-like state. As was customary when another took control.   
  
He could still sort of see, here. It was more like a dream, a thought that was almost his own but just out of his realm of recollection. Thinking — that was mostly what he did, here, when he was in this mood. He had mistakes to resent, sins to repent and past behaviors of both himself and others to reflect over.   
  
Functioning could wait. Revenge would come.   
  
  
  
  
  



	12. NIGHTMARE

**Rhyme & Reason 11:   
[ N I G H T M A R E ] **

  
  
  
  


It was darker than would have thought possible. Darkness, and no trace of anything alive, human or otherwise. He couldn't see but it was a blindness dissimilar than just a lack of sight in the eye. An abnormal kind of sightlessness. It was... a palpable darkness. Vejiita felt almost as if he could reach out and touch it. He would have, too, if he were so certain of himself that he had the limbs to do so.   
  
Fine. He did not exist and he could accept that. And, if by any chance he was alive, there was no way for him to prove his existence. Not that he really minded. He had a tingling feeling that he had been here before. This very nothingness was commonplace. He had just never consciously known of it before.   
  
Odd to think about, really. Existing during a state of nonexistence and actually knowing about it. As opposed to.... What? Never existing and not knowing about it? It appeared, so far, that the end result was identical: you're nothing, don't even think about it.   
  
There was a light. Or, more aptly, a disturbance. A ripple in the darkness breaking the never-ending sorrow that hugged him like a second layer of skin. And there stood a figure an immeasurable distance before him, eyes downcast and hands shoved into his pockets. Despite the distance between him and the other, Vejiita could see the figure's expression clearly. He supposed that this place he was in wasn't so much as darkness as it was just _nothingness_.   
  
But the figure Vejiita was staring at wasn't just nothing. It took a moment for it to all register, his shock lagging his already impaired reflexes, but soon it all came at him like a kick in the face. He found himself staring, slack-jawed and helpless to look away, at... himself. The general up sweep of hair, a crooked grin, the crosshatched scars proving a harsh life. Vejiita took a wary stop forward, curiosity getting the better of him. He recognized some of the scars on the other's face. But other scars were the remnants of wounds that had never been dealt to him.   
  
"You're insane, you know that Vejiita?"   
  
The rhetorical question echoed all around him, adding to the saturnine atmosphere. His eyes narrowed on what seemed to be a warped clone of himself, similar but all the same startlingly different. The other man tossed his head back, the lopsided smirk following his amused tone of voice. Earrings and broken, silver glasses resting on his forehead flashed unnaturally in the darkness. His nose wasn't as straight as Vejiita's, it looked as if it had been broken more than a few times and hadn't received proper repair. His arms were thinner but still well-toned, ending in long, strong fingers and bony knuckles. He laughed a low, raspy chuckle.   
  
"Nice to finally see you, face-to-face" he said, his voice less taunting than before. "Chester Hardy, pleased to meet you. Don't bother introducing yourself. I already know who you are." He winked. Vejiita noticed his eyes were a polished brown color.   
  
Vejiita shivered again. Those subtle differences. The varied scars. The shape of his nose. The cracking voice. Ears lined with dozens of silver piercings. What sort of terrible place was this where your self-image was so terribly warped? He didn't even want to think about what he said....   
  
A second flashing distortion of the uniform darkness and a new version of himself appeared and stood stiffly as if he belonged here. This hallucination could have set Vejiita at ease, for he more closely resembled the physique that Vejiita was used to seeing in the mirror. His body was obviously heavily muscled, in spite of his unnatural slouch. He had a chiseled face, similar to the former apparition but not as lean, and had a much darker skin tone. His eyes were bloodshot, their aloofness startling him as he stared unblinkingly at him. A dark brown tail slid from around his legs, whipping back and forth dangerously.   
  
Another voice echoed around in his head, the personal and private attack stirring defensiveness in Vejiita.   
  
"We're all crazy and you're all gonna die." He smirked.   
  
Chester retaliated promptly, angry words reverberating around in the darkness. "Shut your mouth, Monty. You're the fucking psycho, out of all of us —"   
  
Montgomery snarled, eyes suddenly losing their remoteness. The mad fury in them made Vejiita want to take a few cautious steps back. No words were uttered but their ferocity was enough to halt the first's accusation. Vejiita felt as if Montgomery's point had been made, even though the other, who was just grinning and shaking his head, appeared undaunted. "Mont, Mont, Mont," he was muttering. "You put our boys to shame."   
  
The one called Chester grinned up at Vejiita, then jerked his head in a direction past Mont. Vejiita was glad to look away. He had suddenly noticed a nasty shiner, a dark bruise ringing the other's right eye, the original root-beer brown color dulling to a less colorful shade.   
  
Following his gaze, he saw two young men resting near each other, one standing and the other crouching near him. They were a frightening sight: scant clothing torn to shreds, exposing the scarred and bloodstained skin it previously protected. They both looked much like him, more than the previous two, except that they were stockier. Possessing no grace.   
  
The one who was standing had black hair and colorless eyes like Vejiita himself. He wore a primal grin, lips pulled back from teeth, canines resembling fangs more than normal teeth. He was leaning against the crouching one, whose appearance took after a very different part of Vejiita.   
  
"Super Saiyajin," Chester murmured. "It scares you doesn't it?" Vejiita avoided his bruised face and laughing eyes. "I always thought it was a load of bull. A story someone made up. A story _you_ made up." He chuckled softly. Even though his words were chilling, his laughter was somehow lighthearted. "As if Rip cares, there. He thinks it's great."   
  
That would explain it, Vejiita thought. Rip, like the former Rob, was smiling, though his grin exposed no inhuman teeth. His hair was a dusty brown. With a washing, Vejiita imagined that it could possibly be blond. His eyes were almost like that of a super Saiyajin, except that they were not so bright. Their color was somewhere between teal and gray. Rip had a tail. Further inspection of Montgomery, who was currently trying to decide whether to let his temper loose or go back to sleep, proved that he, too, had a tail. It was a long brown thing that jerked sporadically behind him.   
  
Vejiita took a deep breath and took another step back, trying to ignore Rip and the darker Rob. This was all too much... Where was this all coming from? He caught sight of someone else and studied him, not even bothering to groan out loud.   
  
There was a composed air about this new arrival. It could have been how he stood away from the rest, distant but not standoffish. His arms were wrapped loosely around his body, as if absentmindedly fending off a cold wind, mind elsewhere. His head was bowed but he did glance up quickly enough, making tentative eye-contact with Vejiita. He reminded him of Kakarotto's first son, both in his general appearance and his quiet nature around people. That uncertainty and shyness was a welcome sight.   
  
Rhys Schultz nodded shortly, giving Vejiita a small, encouraging smile. He did not intend to step into this congregation. He had come only to try to support Vejiita, not to expose himself and aggravate things any more than they already were. Vejiita didn't smile back but Rhys Schultz felt that had done what he had come for. To lend some small measure of comfort with just his presence.   
  
"Yep," said Chester, snapping Vejiita's attention from Rhys. Quite obviously, the lanky young man was leading whatever was going on. Vejiita paid attention to him, eyes focused on the shiny diamond earring in the lobe of one ear. "Our own little dysfunctional family. Not really that bad here. Honest." He put his hands on his hips and leaned forward. "You belong here."   
  
Montgomery's eyes flashed again, resentment and annoyance rippling off him tangibly. They both ignored him.   
  
Vejiita spoke up, his throat dry and his voice noticeably strained. "N-no. I don't... I think I'm lost."   
  
Chester shrugged, cracking his knuckles. "You wanna leave? Why?" He shook his head, words failing him. _This isn't a hallucination_, he realized. _Was this hell?_ Either way, he wanted out! This was not right.   
  
"Can't escape us. We've been here for years, Vejiita," Chester reasoned. "Why do you _want_ to leave?"   
  
"Get him out of here!" Montgomery's angry voice shot through the still air, his temper finally released. From the corner of his eye, Vejiita saw Rip stand up, and Rob's expression became more serious. "Chester! You jackass, I hate you!" He turned his scorching glare to Vejiita, utterly murderous. _"Get out."_ Chester let out an indignant sigh but Vejiita didn't care about whose side he was on right now. He took a few steps back, praying that the stability of this place would hold out just long enough for him to get away.   
  
Montgomery steadied himself, muscles visibly tightening under a thin layer of clothes. Not an idiot, Vejiita took a few steps back, ready to turn and bolt if necessary. He caught Chester's eye who only shrugged and looked away. "I will kill you," Montgomery's low voice promised. "I will kill you _all_."   
  
That was the cue; Vejiita pivoted so his back was facing them all and started to run. Away... away from his family. Away from all that had kept him partially sane all these years.   
  
Then, all was dead.   
  
  
  



	13. WELTANSCHAUUNG

**

Rhyme & Reason 12:   
[ W E L T A N S C H A U U N G ]   
  


**_"world view"_   
  
  
  


Vejiita was aware of himself in an instant but noticed his surroundings much more slowly. He was flat on his back, stretched out, almost comfortable. He forgot about Chester's eternal black eye and Montgomery's accusing shout. They both became a memory of a memory, easy to ignore and discard. Vejiita forgot about them without any effort.   
  
In fact, the troublesome thoughts of those who occupied the shadows of his mind were so easily forgotten that he wanted to sink back into oblivion, forget everything and everyone. It would be so easy. Just lay back, clear his mind, force himself to be at peace with himself as much as he has ever been...   
  
He shifted his weight slightly, fully intending to do just this, to _allow_ himself to be a goner. However, as he tried to move into a more comfortable position, too greedy for perpetual placidity and too confident in this downward-spiral plan, he felt something that was none too relaxing.   
  
A chill.   
  
An icy metal surface came in contact to his hot skin. When he had moved, he had shifted just enough to move to a part of the table where his body heat had not previously warmed the metal. It wasn't the cold that nearly shocked him out of his skin — it was what a metal table meant.   
  
He gasped softly and in a jerky motion, he arched his back and slid off the examination table, moving faster than his mind could follow. Barefooted and disoriented, he slipped on the slick tile floor, barely managing to catch himself by his elbows on the side of the table.   
  
Wisely, he chose to pause here to catch his breath, sort out his thoughts and let his body wake up. His sight was temporarily shot, having been jolted out of his stupor too quickly and he wasn't quite sure if he could trust his knees. He shook his head, peering past the black and red haze that impaired his view of the world. Something was coming into focus. A shiny, horizontal surface hovering a few inches in front of him. The darkness clouding his sight cleared up; a hospital tray, holding a few rolls of gauze, an empty syringe, a bottle of pills, a scalpel or two.   
  
He swallowed nervously and forced himself to walk. His steps were strained, joints painfully stiff. The familiar pain in his stomach returned with a new vengeance with almost enough force to cause him to double over. For a moment, he considered turning back in hope that laying still would cause the twisted stitch of pain to subside, but he knew from past experience that it throbbed as healthily holding still as it did in motion. He could deal with this. It wasn't like giving care to it now would make it any better.   
  
His skin suddenly broke out in gooseflesh. The table, the surgical knife, the tell tale knot in his side. A small dark room, illumination manipulated by four glaring, white walls. The pieces were slowly coming back together, the picture forming being one that he had thought he had destroyed permanently. The dust of his earlier childhood had never been brushed away; childhood was _now_.   
  
He swivelled around, panic seizing him once again. Oh, thank God, he thought. No one's here. No one to hit him, to grab him and strap him down on the table and to slice him open and mess his innards up. Thank God his father was nowhere in sight. But.... they could come in any minute. He turned with difficulty, taking in his surroundings much more slowly. The instant he spotted a door he was there, shaking and clammy hands twisting the smooth knob. The door gave in and he stumbled through, shutting it behind him with a soft click.   
  
Slowly drawing in a deep breath between his teeth, he felt along the wall near the doorway, finding and flicking on the light. Bright fluorescent lights drenched him from above, nearly blinding him for a second time within the hour. Before he squinted through his tightly clenched eyes, he inhaled deeply. The strong smell of artificially-scented soap and sharp tang of lemon disinfectant was giving him a headache. He slit an eye open, slowly recognizing the white, ceramic facilities surrounding him.   
  
Vejiita sighed, feeling his face draw into a scowl of both annoyance and deep-set worry he decided that staying in the bathroom, behind a locked door, would keep him much safer than sitting out there, exposing his belly. At least here he would have the _illusion_ of safety and that was all he could ever ask for.   
  
He rubbed his nose, trying to snuff out the harsh scent of disinfectant; he could do without a headache right now. He needed to be on full alert. As many aches and pains that dominated his body now, he needed to be mentally prepared. He liked to think he could be good at verbosity when his limbs failed him. Now, though, it was quiet. Silent, a vacant buzz humming consistently in his ear. He blinked hard and turned towards the sink, his intention being a drink of water. He caught sight of his face before he could reach the faucet. He gave up on thoughts of a refreshment.   
  
He took a step and a half backwards, backing himself into a wall, immediately allowing his knees to give out on him at this sudden resistance. He didn't want to look at that face. He didn't want to look at anybody.   
  
His stomach churned and he turned his head, eyeing the toilet a few feet away from him through blurred vision. Bile burned at back of his throat and the deep breath he inhaled rattled shakily through his body, appeasing the tremors he was being overwhelmed with little success. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting so badly to somehow just _leave_ his body behind and become nothing more than air, a soon-to-be forgotten memory.... Wishful thinking, he knew this but hated to acknowledge, but in bringing up his hand to wipe away the tears, induced by overwhelming anxiety and stress, he nearly stabbed himself.   
  
He stared at the thin instrument; it was as long as the end of his middle finger to the center of his palm, a stainless steel implement ending with a blade that sliced through the skin of his thumb so smoothly that he barely felt it. A drop of blood oozed out and dripped leisurely down his palm, down his wrist, on the stiff white hospital slacks he wore.   
  
He remembered that dreary morning a month ago, in Craig's rundown apartment where he had played with a kitchen knife. His body, he believed, was too worn-out and battered and scarred for a man of his age. It was because of a lifetime of violent labor, starting from the day he could walk and it's completion not yet in sight. Sometimes, he just couldn't take it — in his head and in his mind. He broke down that night. He cut.   
  
What did he have to lose now? They'd cut him open eventually. He could see them now; pale, raised skin crisscrossing his torso, visible reminders that he wasn't in one piece. They'd cut him open and fuck with him. His gaze shifted from his marred flesh, ignoring the droplets of blood that trickled from his elbow. He looked at the scalpel, recognizing it as the one that had startled him outside on the hospital tray. At some point, he must have grabbed it. He wiped the blade free of gore on his knee and pondered what to do with it next. It had already broken his skin, and it was meant to do so again. No silly doctor was needed to mess with him this time.   
  
  
  
  
Vejiita had been out for a long time. He had seemed to be partially conscious on the way back to Capsule Corp., but by the end of the hour-long road trip he was gone to the world as he had been for the past two days. When they drove into the Capsule Corporation complex Gokou noted, not at all surprised, that she veered off the usual driveway to the housing buildings in favor of the small but classy hospital. The gray building was square shaped standing out among the domes and was built close to the main laboratory. Its purposes for being on the complex were primarily for emergencies.   
  
In this very building now, walking leisurely despite his long strides, Gokou tried not to worry himself too much about Vejiita's condition. The elder Saiyajin hadn't looked at all well in the car — he had been much paler than usual and it wasn't the ashen look one might develop from lack of sunlight. The bruises speckling his arms and the busted nose suggested a struggle but they weren't that serious. Certainly not enough to knock Vejiita out for a day and a half.   
  
Gokou was a worrier. His anxiety — not just his moral sense — kept him concerned with other people's well being. Helping others so they were safe and fighting to keep the world free of danger were all his principal goals. His personal peace of mind, however, was always something else he made a point to secure.   
  
He stopped at the last door of the hallway. Peering through the narrow window of the heavy wooden door, he looked past the fine chainlink wires that strengthened the glass. This was where Vejiita was. He knew this because he had carried him inside himself. From his vantage point, there was no sign of the other Saiyajin.   
  
Without realizing that his fingers were brushing the cold metal of the doorknob and easily twisting it one half-turn to the right, Gokou stepped into the small, colorless room that Vejiita was supposedly occupying. His senses were immediately flushed with the bland, rubbery, too-clean odor that all hospitals had. It had been there outside this room and in the waiting lobby but in this room he thought it was going to knock him senseless.   
  
Upon further inspection of the surroundings, Gokou determined that his earlier glance was accurate. The white-sheeted bed in the center of the room was messed up, the covers thrown back and a small tray near the bed that looked as if it had been shoved aside so it was no longer aligned parallel to the edge of the bed. Indication that Vejiita had been here but had made his exit with little grace.   
  
He looked around the small room. Windowless, the only exit being the door through which Gokou had just entered. Those in the waiting lobby or reception desk would have spotted and stopped the ailing Saiyajin if he should have attempted to leave that way.   
  
Eyes scanned the small area, locking in on the second door of the room. Identical to the door that led into the hallway but without a window, Gokou guessed that it was a closet or bathroom. To test his assumption he accessed his sixth sense; Vejiita's ki resided behind that door.   
  
Gokou set the neatly-folded clothes he had been sent to deliver down on the unmade bed. The clothes that Vejiita had been wearing were ripped and stained and covered with mud and dead leaves. The deep sleep he had only come out of recently certainly proved that he had needed the rest after a wild night. Gokou cleared the distance between the bed and the door quickly, side-stepping and trying to ignore the needles and other small medical instruments scattered across the floor. His fist hovered hesitantly a few inches in front of the smooth surface, uncertain if he really wanted to see Vejiita right now.   
  
  
  
  
A red sun. A red sun swirling timelessly in a moist sky of flesh. Slowly growing larger, consuming more of the sky, expanding steadily across the horizon until the substance was spread so thin that it was nothing more than a pale smear. The silent God who was responsible for this red circle's death sighed tiredly, bloodied finger trailing up his stomach to start anew. He hadn't stopped bleeding from the small stab wound he had afflicted on himself and he found the gore to be the most suitable of paint, coloring thoroughly and thickly.   
  
A crash of thunder behind him tore him from his bleeding, his finger jerking away from his side, his elbow smacking the wall in his surprise. He jump up, stepping away from the door. Through the buzz in his ear, he heard his name....   
  
"Hey, Vejiita. Are you in there?"   
  
The voice was not familiar but the question was. He didn't trust his own voice enough to answer or his hands enough to open the door. He responded indirectly, slipping around the toilet and moving aside the pale yellow shower curtains. He twisted the plastic faucet so the arrow was indicating towards the far end of the red area — hot. He slipped in, panicked, not wanting to face anyone should the speaker come in. Bracing himself against the wall with one arm, he waited for the sound of departing feet through the loud spray of the shower water. Then he turned off the water. Whoever had talked to him was convinced that he was in the lavatory and quite alive.   
  
Pulling his conclusions primarily from the overall cleanliness of the bathroom, he realized that he was not a kid anymore and this place was not a threat to him. However, sick as he was and as disoriented as he remained, he took his stubborn anxiety and fear anger out on the knot of pain in his stomach. It was gone now. Leaving behind just him and the hole in his side for the time being, bleeding idly.   
  
He slipped out of the square shower stall, yanking a fluffy white towel off its metal hanger. He scrubbed his face with it, quickly rubbing it through his hair and wiped off his shoulders before pressing the now damp cloth against the deep cut. Vejiita exhaled hard through his teeth, exhalation a cross between a sigh and a snarl. He didn't regret stabbing himself but now he didn't really understand why he had done it in the first place.   
  
Tossing the blood-smeared towel back in the shower, he peeked through the door. Nothing had been touched or moved and no one was in sight. The bed was still a mess, the door was tightly shut and whoever had called to him earlier was gone without a trace. His eyes zoned in on some light-colored clothing on the foot of the bed. Thank God. Something to wear other than the hospital slacks he was wearing; currently soaking wet and sticking to him like a second skin.   
  
The white slacks dropped to the tile floor with a damp smacking sound. Vejiita found that his lips were betraying an amused smirk. Underwear. Boxers, dark red plaid with frogs. Vejiita wasn't one who wore undergarments religiously and always they had been quite plain. Whoever had been in charge of picking out clothes for him would have had to be either Craig or —   
  
One of _them_.   
  
Vejiita's lips tightened into a somber straight line. The thought took all the humor out of the frog-boxers. He felt sick thinking about it but it put them on anyway, as if those who possessed them were some sort of gods who needed to be appeased in order to behave.   
  
The jeans were pulled on and buttoned without fuss and the undershirt was slipped over his head with minimal trouble. He dropped the black and gray button-up shirt to the floor for later. He eyed the bed, the fatigue he had been ignoring scraped up inside him, making his eyelids droop and his knees feel like water. Very heavy water. He took a clumsy step forward and allowed himself to fall on the bed, twisting himself around to stare at the flourescent light seeking to blind him from above.   
  
The last thing he wanted to do was sleep. His head wouldn't let him forget how bad hospitals were and the fact that he hadn't seen anyone yet put him on edge. But he couldn't possibly fight this forever. He had to sleep. You always succumbed to it eventually — it was inevitable, sleep. He knew it. Sleepless nights turning into sleepless weeks had always ended up with him collapsing like some narcoleptic. He closed his eyes and the lights in his head went out within that second.   
  
  
  
  
Craig leaned against the smooth, white concrete of the building, warm enough to be an actual living, breathing thing. His black eyes were wide and awe-struck, focused on the crackling fire which was quickly eating up the east fringes of the Capsule Corp. complex. His eyes danced red, reflecting the orange flames. He licked his lips slowly then snapped himself out of his daze by giving his head a hard shake, not unlike a dog shaking it's coat free of water. He glanced to his right, his eyes still glazed over. To his newfound companion he said, "Now, wasn't that the _shit_?"   
  
Yamucha made eye contact warily, wondering what this fellow was on. Yamucha had a strong impulse to get away from him. Unfortunately, Son Gokou had asked him to hang around Craig, keep him company. "Humor him if you must," Gokou had told him. "He's a friend of Vejiita and you know what that means." Yes, he certainly did know what that meant. Vejiita's friend's mischief rivaled both Trunks' and Goten's together and bordered on devilry.   
  
The human was reminded vaguely of his few years of high school; daily schoolwork and nagging teachers aside, the kids were what drove him to the desert. Preps, jocks who lived to make an impression of the sidewalk in your face and girls so high-maintenance they brought the joy out of dating and even sex. Circles of friends, every other one a back stabber who just used you to help back-stab another, asked you to do favors in return for a permanent place at the top. Yamucha couldn't help but resent Gokou and even Bulma for taking advantage of their friendship and sending him on a guilt trip to baby sit this guy.   
  
What use was Craig anyway? All he had done was set off a series of cheaply-made firecrackers, successfully alighting the small, private forest at the edge Capsule Corp.'s territory. He had laughed when a tree collapsed, laughed at the small team of firemen who had arrived to put the fire out. Yamucha snorted to himself and took a few steps away from the other man. Seemed a lot like how Vejiita was; a jerk who usually ended up making things worse — except this one meant to do it.   
  
Preps and asshole Saiyajin. He never had to deal with this out in the desert....   
  
He was pulled from his sulking from a yell above, more like a howl than any human bellow. A small ki blast, easily mistakable for a firework, was shot off from above him into the yard fire causing the firemen to shout out in anger. The igniter slid down the side of the gently-sloping building shortly after. Yamucha groaned audibly at the sight of Vejiita, looking deranged as usual.   
  
Joining them, waving two fingers in greeting, he jabbed Yamucha numerous times in the stomach and side. "Hey, you, how you doin'?" He laughed then turned to Craig. "Nice shirt," he offered, rubbing his arm lightly. Craig flashed a shy grin.   
  
The shirt looked like something he had pulled out of the donation box to the Salvation Army. Dirty white, short sleeved and made of thin ribbed corduroy, the shirt was a mixture of a mechanic's apparel and tacky 70's clothes. On the left side was an oval, red-seamed patch with the name "Frank" sewed in the center in red, cursive thread. Adjusting the fake leopard skin collar, Craig replied, "Thanks. My mom says it detracts from the goofiness of my face."   
  
Vejiita smirked and shook his head. "Yeah, sure, your mom." He wiped the grit from the roof off on his pants, adjusted the collar of his black shirt so it laid flat and made his way to the entrance of the building, slipping through the glass doors and disappearing. Craig dropped the garbage left over from the fireworks. Yamucha tailed him, intent on keeping his word to Gokou.   
  
Yamucha saw that Vejiita had already made himself comfortable on a green-padded wooden bench in the reception area, his head titled up and eyes glued to the television set bolted into the corner of the room. Yamucha allowed himself to be yanked forward, his will to get away from these two far from conquered but he found that his chances of escaping — and getting more than two feet without getting pantsed (which, he imagined, would be the result of leaving) — were zip.   
  
He followed the Saiyajin's gaze, looking at but not watching the newscaster tell the public, face professional and bare of concern, of the devastating earthquakes that plagued the ever-luckless third world countries. Yamucha tried to look at Vejiita out of the side of the eye without the sharp warrior noticing him. From what he could gather, the alien's attention was focused on the thirteen-inch screen six feet above ground.   
  
Suddenly he looked away, his lips curled in a snarl. "Bah," he muttered, "where the hell is the remote?"   
  
"Velcro-ed to the side of the TV box," answered Craig. Vejiita squinted up at it.   
  
"Damn, is that far up." Yamucha waited for a moment for one of them to stand up and get it; certainly that was a simple task as Vejiita, at least, could fly. Simple to hover up to the television and pull the remote off or just change the channel manually. But, no. Neither made any move. Craig, to his left, was staring at the human's knee. Vejiita on the other side, picked at a hangnail. The overall silence from the two was unnerving.   
  
He cleared his throat and glanced at Craig. "So.. are you a Saiyajin or what?"   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"Well, I mean you don't have a tail."   
  
Craig drew a blank for at least twenty second before his face broke out into a smile, the equation that tail plus a crazy guy setting things on fire equaled Saiyajin finally registering. "Yeah, about that. I think it got hacked off in prison."   
  
"Prison," he repeated.   
  
"Yeah, fuck it hurt." From the expression on his face, Yamucha would never know, for apparently the memory of getting his tail cut off brutally did not pain him. He was smiling and shaking his head to himself, entertained by the thought. Leaning over Yamucha, he inquired to Vejiita, "What happened to yours?"   
  
"I think it burnt off in hell, Craigie."   
  
The statement was followed by a few moments of silence, the quietness bothering Yamucha almost more than the two Saiyajin on either side of him. Attempting normalcy, he dug into his pocket and extracted a red and white pen with "Quality Tan" advertising printed in worn-out blue. Then he picked up the local newspaper off the coffee table, flipping through the pages and folding back the paper when he found the crossword puzzle.   
  
He wasn't the best at crossword puzzles, he would admit that much, but the trivia he had acquired throughout his life provided him with just enough correct answers to encourage him to keep doing them. However, giving the box-inhabited game a closer look, he saw that it had already been completely filled out incorrectly in black pen.   
  
Slowly, his gaze slid over, appropriately settling on man to his left who was drawing cartoons on the knee of his pants with a white and red clicky pen. Meeting Yamucha's eyes then looking at the paper in his lap, Craig chuckled softly and muttered with could have possibly been shame, "Oh, I didn't know you were into word puzzles..."   
  
  
  
  
Bulma sighed and paused, setting down the cardboard box which was burdening her. Why she decided to clean out all the old junk she found decaying in the back of the closet was beyond her now. This morning she had been motivated to clean out the junk, telling herself it needed to be done and that there were benefits involved, depending on how one wished to look at it. She didn't often become introspective, but the rare times she did, such as sitting down in the center of the room with an old photo album or some memorable childhood object, reminiscing, she enjoyed it wholeheartedly. She decided she needed to make more personal time.   
  
And now, with an apparently psychotic Saiyajin who turned out to be multiple people, the stress was almost overwhelming. Everything Vejiita had ever done was turning out to be not all of his fault and that those other "people" were responsible for doing those awful things. Now with him being unconscious... Having taken the week off, Bulma was hoping to isolate Vejiita herself and get some sort of idea about from where these problems were coming.   
  
She frowned down at the dusty box that was over flowing with old, out-of-date clothing and purses she couldn't believe having ever bought. That closet was nearly cleaned out now; she had been working since eight this morning and it was almost noon. Seeing how this was the last of the lot and it was noon, Bulma decided that a break was certainly well deserved.   
  
That was where she saw him. In the kitchen, standing over the stove with steam curling up around his face, his skin breaking out in an artificial sweat. He was poking a large blue spoon at something inside the pan resting on an orange-hot burner with as much concentration as she had ever seen from him. Her eyes slid over to a body resting on the table, his back facing the stove top and the doorway in which Bulma stood. Yamucha, looking highly uncomfortable, sat at the table staring at the feet of the sleeping man. Seeing Bulma, relief washed over his face. Silently he got up and left, pushing the chair in behind himself. She nodded her thanks for him staying so long.   
  
A fine but visible tremor suddenly thrilled its way through Vejiita's frame, notifying him abruptly that he had company. He looked at her, a sly grin sneaking onto his face. "Hey, good afternoon."   
  
She nodded politely and smiled. "What are you making?" He tilted the pan so she could see.   
  
"Started out as an omelet, but then I didn't want to go through with that flipping thing. So now it's scrambled eggs with junk in it. Want some?" He took the pan off the burner and set it on the counter. Bulma winced, hoping that the hot pan wouldn't leave a permanent scar in the expensive counter top.   
  
She shook her head. "No thanks, you can have it all."   
  
He jerked his head in a short, happy nod. "Rock on." With that, he slouched over and leaned against the counter top on one elbow, using the other arm to scoop up the eggs and ham and cheese concoction with a fork. He was a picky or maybe just a temperamental eater, poking through his meal and occasionally stabbing up a yellow mouthful.   
  
While Vejiita played with his food, Bulma opened the refrigerator and extracted some flavored yogurt, her choice in food not so much to extinguish her hunger but as an excuse to stick around. Like Vejiita, she ate at the counter, avoiding the table that was currently doubling as a bed.   
  
Vejiita studied her for a moment before initiating the conversation. "You seem unnaturally calm."   
  
"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked.   
  
He lifted a shoulder. "Never mind." He sank his teeth into a grinning lip then quickly shoved the fork in his mouth. "This tastes funny. I think I need more salt." He extended his arm to get the tall wooden salt shaker on the other side of the counter.   
  
Bulma's attention was caught by something under his sleeve. She grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to move away, her reflexes startling her as much as the one she had captured.   
  
However, he lacked the shock at being caught and of her quick movements. Instead, confusion blighted over his face momentarily before transforming into a muddled annoyance, instantly starting to wrench his hand free. He gave her a small, baffled smile as if suspecting that she was "up" to something. "What are you doing? Let go."   
  
She held tight and undid the button on the cuff of his shirt with her other hand and pushed the sleeve back. Three nicks, lined up one by one on his arm, varying in length from a half an inch to almost two. She easily pushed the sleeve past his elbows, staring at the fresh cuts that definitely weren't there when she had checked him into the hospital.   
  
Face serious and still uncertain, Vejiita pulled his arm away and twisted it for a better look. His fingers came up and ran over the glistening, red slash marks. The faint wince that flashed across his face momentarily was not bothered to be suppressed. "Hmm...," he murmured, brows creased in concentration. He inspected his other arm. It was less damaged surface-area wise, but two red circles suggested stabbing rather than cutting. "Weird. I barely even felt this stuff." He held his arm out in front of him, rotating it to see all sides. Sighing, he finally lowered it, awe gone from his face.   
  
He suddenly seemed to notice Bulma, still standing next to him, one eyebrow arched and gawking at him with an expression of astonishment. He returned the expression, although he was more shocked and outraged. "What, you think I did this to myself? You dumb girl, of course I wouldn't!"   
  
"I'm not speaking to Vejiita, am I?" she meekly guessed.   
  
"No!" His eyes flashed. "I can't believe you don't know who I am..."   
  
"And you are...?" she ventured.   
  
The corner of his mouth jumped. "Chester. Chester Hardy." His eyes narrowed, angry that he was so easily confused with the others. "Duh."   
  
Bulma herself was unnerved by the fact that she had not been talking to Vejiita this whole time. She was not well acquainted with any of the others yet and had hoped to get to know them in a less casual and unexpected fashion.   
  
"Well," she started uncertainly, "can I talk to him?"   
  
"Who?" Chester scraped the rest of the omelet out of the pan and tossed the fork in the sink, the sound of metal clanging and scraping against metal making Bulma wince.   
  
"Vejiita," she said flatly, trying not to lose her patience.   
  
Chester's face twisted into a confused frown, his brow wrinkling and a lip curling up. "Why do you want to see him?" He followed the fork's path to the sink, leaving the warm pan on the counter. Grasping the shiny sliver knobs and giving them a quick twist, water poured through the long-necked faucet and he angled one arm under the spray. He hadn't noticed these cuts earlier but now that he had, they stung like hell. He hoped some cool water would soothe the stinging sensation. "I don't want to talk to him."   
  
Bulma shook her head. "I want to." She moved away from the counter so she was behind him. Methodically he moved his arm back and forth under the stream of water, ignoring her until he was finished and drying off with a towel. "Please, just for a little while."   
  
He turned slowly, his tongue smoothing over his upper lip, considering her request. His eyes lifted to meet hers but before he could say anything, they focused on a point past her shoulder instead. She turned as well, following his gaze. The little smirk that lighted up his eyes was not lost on her.   
  
Gokou was standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Currently, he was locked in a staring contest with Craig, formerly known the limp person passed out on the table. But now he was wide awake, stretched on his side with one leg crossed over the other and upper body supported by his elbow, chin resting on his palm. However, Craig wasn't what had caught Chester's attention. His eyes were boring into the side of Gokou's head.   
  
As always, Gokou acknowledged the other Saiyajin, a friendly smile spreading over his face. Chester winked back, the mischief growing ever brighter. He caught Bulma's eyes and said, with more resolution than before, "You don't want to talk to him. I see no point in it." He moved around her, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down.   
  
"What's going on?" asked Gokou with the smallest touch of uncertainty. He was keeping a wary eye on Chester, who was slinking his way over to his side, and try to keep the mood light. Vejiita hadn't responded earlier to his presence earlier in the infirmary. Gokou had wanted to stick around, wait in the lobby and see how Vejiita was doing, but he needed to get back to his own family. He had no doubts that Chichi would be a little more than rubbed the wrong way after he had up and left at the break of dawn and didn't return for two whole days. He was partially correct, but his short-tempered wife knew Gokou well enough to understand his need to care for his friends — no matter what his character was like.   
  
He returned to Capsule Corp. after squaring everything away with his wife and persuading Yamucha to do him the favor. He had just released the human of his duty and had finally managed to track Vejiita down. Hovering outside the door had given him a bit of insight as to what Bulma was trying to pull out of the ever-grinning Chester. Too bad he hadn't realized beforehand that he was more a distraction than help.   
  
Chester was behind him now and when Gokou turned around he was standing there, arms crossed behind his back and feet spread out, a grin stretched out across his face. Gokou raised an eyebrow, trying to humor him, then turned back to Bulma. He hoped the other Saiyajin would place himself in his line of vision.   
  
"Well, I've been trying to have a conversation Vejiita but he's being a—"   
  
Bulma's sentence was cut short by Chester clearing his throat loudly and rubbing his finger along his lower lip. "Excuse me. _Chester_." She faltered at the correction for a moment, then realized that he was right.   
  
"_Chester_ is refusing to cooperate." She stared at him, keeping his attention. "And this is serious."   
  
He shrugged but was apparently won over by Bulma's reasoning. "Fine, if you want to talk to him so badly, I guess I have no real reason not to let you. But I swear, he doesn't know anything."   
  
"No?" spoke up Gokou. Chester shook his head, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. He shook his head.   
  
"Not a damn thing, so if you're trying to pull information, forget about it. And right now I don't feel like sharing." Chester's face was hard now but there was still that twist in his lip that suggested that he was not so very angry. From the table, Craig smirked and pulled a deck of cards out, slipping off the surface and seating himself. Shuffling the cards occupied his hands while he listened in on the conversation. After a moment he started up on a game of solitaire, absorbed in his activity in seconds.   
  
"Chester, it's not my intention to interrogate him, or any one of you," said Bulma. "We'd just like to talk to him. About you." She cut him off before he could make out a word. "About this whole situation, not you specifically."   
  
Chester snorted softly and shrugged. "Whatever. I'll be back later."   
  
Gokou watched carefully. He wasn't sure what to expect... it had to be subtle, the transition, for everyone to have missed it all these years. But it almost seemed as if this time should be dramatic. This was it, after all. The changing of one personality to another, a whole other person rising from the shadows. Chester went inexpressive for about five seconds, his face turning to stone and his eyes blank and empty.   
  
Then Vejiita stood before them. Gokou was certain that this was Vejiita. The posture with which Vejiita held himself was one Gokou was beginning to recognize. The Saiyajin's eyes darted once or twice, quickly taking in his location before recognizing the exit. He shifted his weight towards it, inconspicuously inching towards the only way out. He avoided looking at the three other people in the room.   
  
"Vejiita?" Gokou asked, spellbound. The other man' eyes hardened at the name, glaring at him and trying to control his jumpy nerves. Vejiita had a sudden flashback, remembering being half guided, half carried out of a dark house with Kakarotto all over him. His breathing quickened suddenly but it was a short panic attack, hard to catch and hold onto as everything else was about him. His racing heart beat was slowed immediately by well-exercised endorphin.   
  
He inhaled deeply and breathed out, "Yes, what is it?"   
  
Gokou glanced at Bulma, waiting for her to raise her eyebrows in encouragement before continuing. "Vejiita, I think we should talk."   
  
The lack of expression that suddenly came over Vejiita's face, any emotion or prospect for negotiation shut down under the weight of a mastered poker-face. Gokou feared yet another transition, thus losing Vejiita for a undetermined amount of time, but staring into his dark eyes, he was quite certain that he hadn't gone anywhere yet... but that was no reason to patronize him. "Talk about..." Vejiita murmured, the hardness in his eyes slipping for a moment as his directed his gaze downwards. "Talk about... what?"   
  
Gokou bit his lip. He had been hoping that it would be easier to get a straight answer out of Vejiita than Chester but it appeared that it was going to be even more of a challenge. The stubbornness was not entirely unexpected. Gokou was frustrated with it but Bulma was more understanding. Chester was being difficult for the sake of being difficult, perhaps his own insecurities and wanting to be around Kakarotto making the situation worse also. After all, talking to Vejiita meant that Chester was out of control — for the most part.   
  
But Vejiita — he needed help, he needed it badly and wasn't going to ask for it himself. His doggedness was all about self-preservation and reputation and denial.   
  
Bulma spoke up before Gokou could form a sentence, taking hold of Vejiita by the arm and gesturing for him to sit down at the table. He did so, resting an elbow on the surface, just barely able to see Craig carry out his game from the corner of his eye. He paid no mind when Bulma took a seat across from him and said to Vejiita, "Can you tell me what you remember from two days ago?"   
  
"Two days ago..." he muttered to himself, his eyes flickering away as he brought up that night. His eyes flickered off to the side, his mind traveling two days in the past. They had lost their defensive blankness for the time being and were pensively distant. Then, for a moment, his face was pure shock and he turned around sharply in his seat.   
  
In the process of moving three cards to another length of cards, Craig took his time in noticing Vejiita. But when he finally did look over him, he just offered him a quirked eyebrow, his expression plainly saying, "What? Why do you look at me?"   
  
Then he put his expression into words.   
  
"Come on, Vejiita. You don't remember?" Like Chester had earlier, he bit down on his lip to keep himself from smirking. Vejiita shook his head. "No? Sano? You don't remember Sano or his house or _anything_?"   
  
"No," Vejiita said softly, moving his seat so he was facing the table, not Bulma. Craig exhaled through his teeth and started to gather all the cards up into one pile, shuffling them in his hand for a moment then set the deck down.   
  
"Damn."   
  
"Why, what happened?"   
  
Craig drummed his fingers on the table. He was stalling. A sharp pain started to develop in the side of Vejiita's head, a killer headache coming to life. Vejiita closed his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths as if he were preparing to meditate, which didn't sound like a bad idea at the moment. "Craig, just tell me." He bit off the end of each word. He loathed to know what Craig knew but he couldn't stand being in the dark for much longer.   
  
Craig chuckled nervously, biting his thumb nail before he went on, "Um, well, you know, I gave you that needle. I had thought you wanted one earlier so I got ya one." Vejiita kept his eyes tightly shut. He already knew it was bad and didn't help that he had an audience here to listen to Craig's story. "You took it anyway. I left after a bit."   
  
"Where?" Vejiita asked. His voice sounded so loud to him; he realized that he was almost yelling.   
  
"With some girl."   
  
"Ah."   
  
Vejiita pulled the black button off the cuff of his shirt. He rolled it on its edges between his thumb and index finger. Craig didn't continue his story and Vejiita's vocal cords seemed to have frozen up on him, for he could not find the voice to tell Craig to continue.   
  
From behind Vejiita, at the counter, Gokou cleared his throat softly and hesitantly said, "Okay, then what?"   
  
Craig scratched his head then fingered a stud shot through the lobe of his ear. "I came down like an hour or something later and I saw you with Sano, you know. That was Sano's house so I thought, okay, he saw that you were with me so he went to introduce himself or whatever."   
  
"Or whatever," Vejiita muttered.   
  
"Uh huh, I guess. So you were getting it on with Sano — I didn't have a great view and I didn't stay and watch, but that's what it looked like, you know. When I was in the kitchen looking for something to drink, I ran into Sano. He didn't say nothing to me, though," Craig said, glancing over at Gokou to make sure he was still listening. The tall Saiyajin's eyes were narrowed, stern and thoughtful. When Craig broke the contact Gokou shot a glance at Vejiita, noting the hunched, tensed shoulders and the way he was popping his knuckles repeatedly. "Just bumped into me and told me he was going out for a bit. You were somewhere on the floor by then." He prodded Vejiita's arm with his finger. "You seemed okay enough so I went back upstairs and hitched a ride back here with you guys later.   
  
"And that's all that happened."   
  
Yeah... That made sense. The pieces fit together, more or less, or rather the sequence of events Craig spoke of matched what Vejiita had barely remembered. Some of it was becoming clearer as he thought about it with a more positive outlook. Of course, he quickly shut down on that train of thought; he didn't need this sort of stuff going through his mind right now.   
  
He stole a glance to the side and though he couldn't see the other's faces clearly, he knew they would be staring at him. What else was there to look at? Vejiita swallowed a gulp of air and stood up, nearly knocking his chair to the ground. He stormed past Bulmaand Gokou and found himself outside, squinting through the gray, afternoon sunlight and suffocating under with the strong smell of cinder and smoke.   
  
Exhaling sharply to clear out his nose, Vejiita looked around helplessly for a moment, realizing that although he was outside and free of prying eyes for now, he didn't really have anywhere to go. He slumped against the building and slid down into a crouch.   
  
He stared unblinkingly at the singed remains of the once quite healthy forest. He wasn't going to move. He wasn't going to curl up and cover his face and he wasn't going to cry. He'd sit here in neutrality forever if that was what it took to save face.   
  
The door slammed and Craig noisily stepped outside. He took a bite of an apple and swung his arms at his side for a moment, apparently taken aback by the brightness the same way Vejiita had been. After two more bites and more mindless gazing, Craig flung the half-eaten fruit into the distance, bent over to wipe his hands on the grass, and approached Vejiita.   
  
He waited for Vejiita to look at him before he spoke, drawing shapes into the dirt at their feet. Vejiita kicked his hand and Craig said, "You know, I didn't mean for that to happen." Vejiita made a soft noise of doubt and narrowed his eyes at the horizon. "I mean it," Craig continued. "Sano's usually a pretty nice guy, I didn't think he'd bother you like that."   
  
"Fine, whatever. I don't mind."   
  
Craig patted his foot. "That's good. You know, I have a few bucks."   
  
"That's nice," Vejiita commented, watching Craig pat his buttocks where a few folded up bills resided.   
  
"Yeah, the girl just gave it to me. She's a real sweetie, I hope I see her again." Craig grinned. "So, wanna go down to the store?"   
  
"No, I don't."   
  
"Yeah, you do, come on." Craig grabbed his hand and tried to tug him up and he eventually gave in and stood on his own. "We'll drive," he informed him, jingling car keys in Vejiita's ear. Vejiita didn't bother to ask where he got those keys. Craig would probably just tell him that "he had his ways" anyway.   
  
Vejiita slammed the door of the dark green car shut, turned the volume of the radio up, grit his teeth, and didn't look back. If anyone cared enough to get into his problems, they'd come find him themselves. Vejiita never had to doubt that.   
  



	14. NERVES

**Rhyme & Reason 13:  
[ N E R V E S ]**   
  
  
  


Trunks found himself doing office work during his week off from school for a number of reasons. For some strange reason, his mother did not want him sleeping in to one p.m. and spending the rest of the day either doing God knows what or laying around on the couch playing video games. His protests were silenced by his mother's reasoning: it was more than likely that Trunks would be president of the company in less than ten years due to his intelligence and relation to the current president.   
  
He paused at the end of the blue-carpeted hallway and leaned against the corner, removing some papers from a dark blue portfolio and tucking them under his arm. Rubbing his forehead, he tried to remember what his supervisor had asked him to copy. Frowning, he pulled six random sheets of paper from the left pocket. It wasn't like copying the wrong report would get him fired. Errand work was not what he had been expecting to do here but was obviously going to be his job until he proved he could be of more use.   
  
The copy room was around the front desk in the lobby, hidden in a small room. Trunks knew the route well. He had memorized the way. The information desk coming up on his left, the lobby through the glass door to the right. It was usually empty at this time of the day.   
  
Trunks didn't expect the three men sitting on the couch, only one of which — Yamucha — was neutral ground.   
  
He didn't say or do anything to draw attention to himself. Self-consciously he pulled the portfolio to his chest, taking half a step backwards. But his father was terribly alert, his eyes snapping up the moment Trunks considered taking a different route to the copy room.   
  
No one broke Vejiita's gaze — ever. It was an act of pure will just to blink if he wanted your attention and Trunks already felt his eyes water. There was fear there. Trunks didn't deny that but he did refuse to acknowledge it. He refused to let fear smother him. It was hard though... Especially after getting his father's brutal history pounded into him.   
  
Then Vejiita did something that Trunks thought was a trick. His eyes softened. The corner of his mouth turned up, at first a scoffing smile but then a wider one, as if Vejiita thought he was such a silly kid and that there was some special, inside joke between them that could never be verbalized. Vejiita shook his head and dismissed Trunks and the teenager hurried around the information desk into the copy room, his head a worse storm of confusion than it was before.   
  
  
  
Vejiita leaned against the side of the car door and stared out the windshield. They were driving over the speed limit but it wasn't very fast anyway. Just at the right speed for Vejiita to zone out, eyes idly following the passing fence posts lining the road for a few feet before they slid out of his direct line of vision.   
  
Craig drove away from the city. Away from the Western Capitol and away from Capsule Corp. They went over a bridge, the fence posts nestled in green grass giving way to steel and concrete guide rails. And then buildings started turning up. The outskirts of a city whose name Vejiita couldn't be bothered to remember. A café that stank of smoke even as the car tore past it, numerous bars, houses with square lawns and dogs chained to posts. Vejiita knew where he was in general — he had been in this city many times before since it was the closest one outside of Capsule Corp. — but not this exact vicinity. They seemed to be winding through the roads of the housing divisions instead of the long, straight streets lined with store and malls as they usually did.   
  
Craig pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station and parked crookedly in a handicapped space in front of the door. Without a word he got out and entered the building, only tossing Vejiita an accidental glace through the dark store window. Vejiita chose to stay where he was..   
  
The other man came back a few minutes later, tossing Vejiita an orange sucker and pulling a slim bottle from the deep pockets of his pants. "I'll share, eh?" he offered.   
  
After that, Craig hit the road again, passing the nice houses and spacious yards until they stopped at a trailer park. It was a small park, not too junky but not very well-kept either. Grass was grown in patches between trailers, yellow and dead due to lack of care and a harsh winter season. The rest of the ground was packed dirt and broken furniture and large rocks tossed out of the way.   
  
Craig seemed to know where he was going and Vejiita chased after him without hesitation, untangling himself from the seatbelt and slamming the car door shut loudly behind him. He was lost in his thoughts, trying to make Craig's story clearer and nearly tripped over a wooden stoop because of his thinking. He looked up at the door the stairs led to; dull, silvery metal, dented and scratched. Craig stood at the door, tapping the bottom of the bottle against the door, producing a dull clanging sound. After a moment or two of no response, he slowly opened the door, poking his head through. Then he smiled and went inside.   
  
Vejiita slipped inside after him, his mind momentarily cleared of any dark visions.   
  
The interior of the trailer was dimly lit and warm in that stuffy, humid way. There was a small kitchen on one side with a square, curtainless window pointing out to someone else's yard. On the other side there was a living room, strewn with clothes, magazines, and crushed cans. A couch was facing a black-screened television set, the entire room black and silent.   
  
"Where are we?" Vejiita asked lowly. Craig nodded towards the couch. With a soft, exasperated sigh, Vejiita shook his head and went to the sink in the kitchen. He turned the water on, cupped his hands under the unsteady spray of water and washed his face. He didn't want to know where Craig had taken him this time, he wasn't sure he could stand it.   
  
He kept his head in the sink when he heard Craig walk past him. He heard an ice box opened and closed then something cool and wet was pressed against the back of Vejiita's neck. He stood up with a groan, flashing the other man a weak, discouraging look. "What is it?" he grated out, pushing the can of whatever back into Craig's hand.   
  
Craig smiled softly, setting the can on the counter. "Do you mind staying here for a bit?"   
  
"So now will you tell me where we are?" he snapped. Craig's brow creased but before he formulated an answered, a soft cough followed by slurred swearing caught the two Saiyajin's attention. Vejiita turned around slowly, afraid of what he'd see, waiting to lift his eyes until he was fully facing this new arrival.   
  
Gold. Unnatural, shining yellow irises whirl pooling around black pupils and a mouth that twisted into an ironic grin. Vejiita wasn't sure if it could get any worse. It wasn't that he hated his oldest son, he was simply at a loss at how to get along with him. He knew next to nothing about him and Gold-Eye knew the exact same amount about his father. Thus, there was uncertainty on Vejiita's side and an absolute lack of fear and respect on his son's. The Saiyajin drew in a deep breath and stiffened his features, set on not giving the young man any insight to whatever weaknesses Vejiita knew were present.   
  
Gold-Eye wet his lips. "Old man," he greeted. Two beats passed and Vejiita decided that he lost his chance at a passable retort and only reacted when Craig stepped forward and nudged him in the side.   
  
"I've taken to calling him Seth but he'll pretty much respond to anything. Just us two living here after all."   
  
Vejiita turned his head, nose-to-nose with the other Saiyajin. "For how long?" He lifted a shoulder.   
  
"Not long. Off and on two weeks at the most. Just crashing here because it's closer to where you live." Vejiita hummed in response and chewed the inside of his lip.   
  
Still undaunted by the two older men in his kitchen, Gold-Eye hooked a thumb under the elastic of the shorts he was wearing and lazily scratched the skin there. He sniffed, blink hard a few times, and said, "Got the time, anyone?"   
  
"Little after four," said Craig without looking around for a clock.   
  
"Good thing you didn't wake me up earlier," he murmured to himself. "I had to get up anyway." With that, he turned around and trudged back into the living room.   
  
Vejiita had been glowering at Gold-Eye the entire time, trying to catch his gaze to either get a rise out of him or have a chill run up his spine. He snapped out of his angry trance as his object of attention moved out of his line of vision and said aloud, "Where do you have to go?"   
  
"Work!" he shouted back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.   
  
"Where do you work?"   
  
Gold-Eye came back out carrying a shirt and some black jeans in his arms. He moved past the two Saiyajin on his way to the sink, handing Vejiita a laminated white card he dug out of the pocket of his pants. Vejiita squinted his eyes and read the text printed next to a photograph of his son. "Seth Crossland, Security, Steveson-Kuhr Architects." "I work the night shift," he explained. "Not bad, eh? I get to sleep all day." He winked as if working the graveyard shift was some sort of big accomplishment in life. "I'm outta here by five-thirty. I got some other stuff I need to do before work."   
  
Vejiita lowered Gold-Eye's ID and watched him fill a blue, plastic cup up with water and steadily drink it all down. "Have you lived here this whole time?"   
  
He set the cup back in the sink where he had found it. "Yeah, pretty much. It was nice till Craig followed me here." He tossed his head back, popping his neck, flashing Craig a sarcastic glare. Craig raised an eyebrow, unamused. "I had my reasons, too." Gold-Eye nodded. Whether he was only humoring the older man or there was a deeper understanding between the two, Vejiita didn't know. He turned his head at the exact wrong time and was caught in his son's gaze for a split second before one of them blinked.   
  
Then Gold-Eye excused himself to a shower.   
  
Giving Craig a sidelong look, Vejiita silently asked, "What's next?"   
  
"Tired?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head and fixing the fur-lined collar of his shirt. Vejiita folded his arms and gestured vaguely. He was a bit more than simply tired. "You can crash in my room. Seth's got dibs on the living room."   
  
"You're going out too?"   
  
"Well, yeah." He grinned and let out a quiet laugh. He sidestepped Vejiita and picked up the bottle he had lifted from the store. He unscrewed it, took a swig then passed it to Vejiita courteously. He stared at the glass bottle, damp from condensation, its contents murky in the cheaply lighted room. For a moment he was at a loss of what to do, the simple actions of extending his arms and accepting Craig's offer beyond his reach. He just suddenly felt horribly empty.   
  
Shoving past Craig, he pulled out a plastic chair at the yellow cardboard table and sat, cradling his head between his hands. Craig turned and took a step forward, leaning against the back of Vejiita's chair. He set the bottle down and slid it so it was resting in front of Vejiita. "I'm not thirsty," he said stiffly, pushing the bottle out of his line of vision. He could imagine Craig shrugging disinterestedly behind him as he rocked restlessly against the chair.   
  
He patted Vejiita's shoulder, hand sliding up to tug on the hair at the nape of the other Saiyajin's neck for a moment. "Fine, be like that." The weight against the chair removed itself and Vejiita turned around, watching Craig turn a corner down the hallway separating the living room and kitchen. Wary of being left alone, especially in unfamiliar territory, Vejiita found himself tailing Craig again.   
  
Two wooden doors. One appeared to be a sliding door, a hollowed out, metal ring to hook your finger through in place of a handle. He could feel the moist air from the other side of the room. Loud music remained unclear through the static and spraying of a shower. To their left was an open door, showing a room brightly lit compared to the others. Craig was inside, shirtless, squatting on the floor and paging through a magazine.   
  
When Vejiita finally made his entrance, he stood up and pointed. "There's the bed. Make yourself comfortable."   
  
Vejiita nodded in response. The bed didn't look half bad, considering Craig either got it cheap or free from a casual acquaintance or yard sale. It was covered with clothes, sheets rumpled, the pillow tossed aimlessly in the center of the mattress. He bent over and tossed a glass ashtray off, almost shaking his head in amusement.   
  
"Seth will probably be out of your hair in a bit," Craig informed him, smoothing a dark red polo shirt over his stomach. "I dunno when I'll be back, but you'd better be outta my bed by then." He ended this last part with a wink, finally threading a belt through the loops and stumbling out of the room.   
  
The trailer door slammed and the shower stopped. Vejiita moved from his spot only when he heard his son moving around in the bathroom, shutting the door shut as securely as he could. The reception of the radio in the bathroom became somewhat clearer and Vejiita was forced to listen to the nonsense.   
  
Finally, he just lay down on the bed, not bothering to knock any of the clothes off or pull up the covers. He had dozed off by the time the door slammed a second time.   
  
  
  
"Hey, Vejiita."   
  
He moaned and picked his head up off the hard surface, resting his chin against the back of his clasped hands and attempting to focus on the blurry shapes beyond his reach. He had thought Craig had _left_.   
  
"Get up, you lazy bastard, pay attention to me."   
  
Two strong fingers pinched his ear, lifting his head and twisting it to the side. Vejiita strained his eyes, glowering mellowly at his captor. Craig's lips curled into a smirk, fingers rising to his mouth to scissor a short cigarette, more ash than paper, and fling it to the side. He exhaled — fortunately not in Vejiita's face — then leaned forward. The smell of smoke was in his hair, on his skin and stuck to his clothes.   
  
"What would you do if I spit in your mouth?" he asked, mouth working.   
  
Vejiita was shocked for about five seconds, then realized exactly who he was talking to. He returned the derisive grin and replied, "Try it and find out."   
  
Craig's fingers massaged his ear, shifting to get a tighter hold. Vejiita felt the grin grow even wider across his face, showing his teeth. He didn't feel silly or stupid about grinning for no good reason. He wasn't scared that his head was wrenched around in such an uncomfortable and vulnerable position. "I can imagine," Craig said. "A thousand times worse than the most terrible thing you can do to me."   
  
"And a thousand times that."   
  
"I think I'll pass," he laughed, jerking Vejiita's head back and forth violently a few times before letting him go.   
  
Here, his vision blurred. Or maybe it actually became clearer, simply fuzzy around the edges, as if he was seeing this all for the first time. Vejiita studied the wall before him, only now noticing the shadows that moved eerily across the smooth surface. Curiosity suddenly getting the best of him, he whipped around, the room spinning madly.   
  
When the disorientation faded, Vejiita stood unharmed in the far corner of the juvenile mess hall, particularly crowded considering the time of the day — late, late night. There were about twenty young men and women jostling each other, leaving only a quarter of Vejiita's peers absent from the room.   
  
He took an experimental step forward, always wary about moving after waking up in a place he didn't remember walking into. The floor didn't slip up from beneath his feet to engulf him and he didn't stumble because of inattentive clumsiness. He gazed around, searching for a familiar face and finding more than he expected. Smoke. The smell of smoke was still strong, now having stuck to his own clothes due to his close contact to it earlier. Vejiita looked over his shoulder, spotting Craig and three others leaning against the wall, absorbed in inane conversation.   
  
Craig pulled a chair from a nearby table, grinding it back and forth against the thinly carpeted floor, creating a sound that was hard on the ears. He tossed his head back, an invitation. Vejiita casually scratched the side of his neck with his middle finger, trying not to grin.   
  
Never before had he flipped someone off as a joke.   
  
A howl was released, one not unlike the cries of panic that Vejiita had always imagined he heard. He turned just in time to duck as someone soared over his head, the body dropping slamming into the table and sliding to the floor. Somewhat surprised, Vejiita turned around, fists clenching and heart sinking at the sight.   
  
With shoulders three times as wide as Vejiita's and standing at a height of seven feet stood Tanako, the tormentor of Freeza's younger employees. He had five eyes that Vejiita could see, four of them running horizontally across his face, working in pairs, and a smaller one above them in the dead center of his forehead, spinning around wildly as if it's sole purpose was to distract. His mouth was nothing more than a slit cut through the middle of his face, parallel with his eyes. It snapped open and shut with a wet chopping sound, snarling and growling at people between verbal insults. A reptilian monster, Tanako was despised for more than perturbing appearance.   
  
Vejiita felt his body shut down for a few moments yet panic didn't overwhelm his system. Paralyzed but unafraid. He was confident that the paralysis would wear off quickly — and after a few moments it did. He inhaled deeply. He was so.. assured. He felt full. He was tense and he was ready to do something about it.   
  
Feigning. He temporarily stifled his feeling of sureness and backed away from the huge brute who had already caught the scent of his nerve. He narrowed his eyes and stared straight up into two of Tanako's glassy orbs, daring him to hit him, _daring_ him to make a fool out of one of them.   
  
Tanako pulled back his arm and slammed a fist the size of Vejiita's abdominal cavity into his jaw.   
  
He saw only red.   
  
The crimson haziness that blurred the edges of his sight. The bloodstained saliva and teeth he spit out onto the floor, the swelling of the wrist he had twisted in his unfortunate journey across the room and into the furniture.   
  
Tanako initiated the fight and Vejiita was the victim here. If one of them ended up dead, Vejiita's name would not be any more soiled than it already was.   
  
He sprang up from the center of the collapsed table and sent his fist through Tanako's chest, gliding in smoothly almost to the elbow. He withdrew a moment later and spun, leg outstretched and it's target obviously the side of Tanako's head. It was hit away before it reached its target. Vejiita started to lose his balance and whipped his tail to the side.   
  
His head never hit the floor. Tanako had him by the ankle, his fingers tightening around the bare skin. His face twisted into a mean-spirited smirk. Vejiita curled his arms to his side and returned the grin.   
  
After dealing with a room full of useless adolescents addicted to drugs and sex, Tanako's grave underestimation of juveniles in general was comprehensible but by no means excusable. Vejiita had had just about enough of being underappreciated and shoved around. He felt that the others felt exactly the same and without further consideration, he accessed the energy the lingered in the back of his brains and in under six seconds, Tanako was nothing more than charred remains.   
  
Vejiita felt himself fall, the feeling of victory and righteousness enough to make him sick.   
  
  
  
Blackness swirled down into a vortex of darkness. The blurry faces disappeared and the smell of smoke was all but gone. Words flashed through his head, letter by letter, each one holding its own little piece of content. Anxiety, assistance, fear. Anger along with its own brand of rebellious support.   
  
Then the entire message finally pieced itself together, the letters written in wet, red spray paint against a brick wall.   
  
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.   
  
  
  
Then, for some reason, he woke up. Habitually he attempted to pinpoint whatever had startled him awake. It couldn't be the lingering smell of laundry detergent. It wasn't the smell of smoke either; he could easily say that he was used to cigarette smoke. He opened his eyes slowly. The white wall he was facing reflected some light into his face but not enough to rouse him from a dead sleep.   
  
Something unnatural, he decided. His sense of touch suddenly clicked on and Vejiita felt a heavy pressure on his shoulder. Vejiiita's eyes flickered to the shadowy shape he had seen out of the corner of his vision. Focusing, he realized it was only Craig, leaning forward over him. Vejiita narrowed his eyes and knocked Craig's arm away as he turned over. A menacing grin spreading over the culprit's face Vejiita's annoyance became clear.   
  
"How you feeling?" he asked through grit teeth.   
  
Vejiita blinked a few times then had to admit, "I feel good." He let himself ignore the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.   
  
Craig adjusted himself so he was sitting on his hands and kept his face close to Vejiita's. "Well, that's good." Vejiita nodded and murmured an agreement. "I would be too," Craig said, "if I had slept for eighteen frickin' hours."   
  
"Eighteen...?" Resisting the urge to rub his eyes sleepily, Vejiita sat up, his attempts to force Craig to give him some space ignored. Instead, the other Saiyajin dropped his concerned front, suddenly twisting around and grabbing something off a TV tray next to the bed.   
  
"Yes, eighteen hours," he snapped, shoving the small, yellow alarm clock in Vejiita's face. He couldn't focus on the black hands ticking around the face of the clock. "Eight a.m., Vejiita. You looked about ready to pass out when I left yesterday. It wasn't even five."   
  
Vejiita didn't know what to tell him and settled for flashing dumbfounded look at Craig. He felt great. Those hours had done him well. "Why did you wake me up?" he asked.   
  
"Get the hell out of my bed, Vejiita."   
  
He sighed and untangled his black shirt from around his waist, kicking off bed sheets and other articles of clothing and stumbling out of the room. As he slid the door shut behind him, he saw Craig toss himself on the bed and lay prone.   
  
  
  
The first place Vejiita glanced at was the couch in the living room. The room was more thoroughly lightened than it was yesterday afternoon and he was sure that he saw Gold-Eye – or Seth was it now? – already curled up on the couch, the only place he had expected to see the younger man. It came to Vejiita that he was not quite alone despite the unconsciousness of the two other people he knew to be lodging in this trailer.   
  
His breath hitched and his skin broke out in gooseflesh for no apparent reason; Vejiita's attention was drawn to the left where, to his horror, he saw that familiar blue haired lady at the kitchen table. She was sitting in the same chair that Vejiita had occupied a little over half a day ago. She looked much more in place than he knew he had felt, he observed. She sat there as if she was welcome.   
  
Vejiita narrowed his eyes, hanging on to that unnatural but dependable feeling of optimism he had experienced in his dream. That leering optimism that made him feel... _good_. "Why are you here?" he asked.   
  
Bulma had been eying him similarly to how he had been eying her; with uncertainty and a dash of suspicion. She was somewhat put off to his approach. "Vejiita... Is this where you stayed last night?"   
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes'm."   
  
She ignored what appeared to be mock respect. Rubbing her forehead, she said, "You just took off yesterday. We were worried."   
  
Vejiita shrugged and leaned against the doorframe, sorting through his thoughts. "So you came and found me." She nodded in assent. "Okay. You can go now."   
  
"Vejiita –" Her voice faltered for a moment, remembering this Saiyajin's occasional snappishness when he was addressed by the wrong name. She continued on, realizing that if he wanted a distinction to be made, he'd have to make it himself. "Vejiita, I didn't just want to find you. I want to help you." He shook his head, amused, but said nothing. Licking his thumb, he smoothed down one of his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.   
  
"You'll do this how?" he prompted after a short time.   
  
"A psychiatrist," she answered immediately.   
  
He started shaking his head and grumbling. "No, I don't want to see a shrink–" Vejiita could literally feel his rejuvenated feeling slipping away from him, taking with it his strength and energy. He was left with sore shoulders and weak knees and leaned against the armrest of the couch, careful not to touch Seth's feet.   
  
"I think you should consider it." He shook his head stubbornly.   
  
"Forget it," he snapped, shoving away from the couch and past Bulma and out the door. He paused at the stoop, knowing that she would follow him. This wasn't her house so she couldn't stay in and he had no where to go anyway, which they both knew. So he sat down on the dusty stairs and waited for her.   
  
She must have been treading on his heels, the way he was the other day. Something about this place made strangers uneasy, he pondered. He following Craig, Bulma following him. She sat down next to him but thankfully didn't immediately bring up the topic of mental health.   
  
"This is where Craig's been staying?" she asked. Small chat.   
  
Vejiita nodded. "I suppose so, I didn't really ask."   
  
"Who was that on the couch?"   
  
Despite himself, Vejiita felt a smug smile tugging at his lips. "What, inside? That's Seth, I guess. This is his place."   
  
"How do you know him?" He let the smile slide into place but didn't answer. He didn't care to let her know; somehow, the idea of keeping his and Seth's relation to each other secret striking him as ironic.   
  
"I just know him from way back," he said, yawning. "Not really a friend though..." He trailed off, having no more voluntary information to give out. He felt the misplaced sense of humor quickly deflate himself as he felt the woman beside him grow pensive, considering a new angle to attack with.   
  
She said thoughtfully, "Don't think that I don't understand. I know why you don't want to see a psychiatrist." Vejiita doubted that; he couldn't say that he had crystal clear reasons for his stubbornness himself. "You have a strange history and I'd be lying if I said that I wouldn't be shocked if I hadn't known about.. all this before hand." Yeah, he was an alien all right, an alien with one hell of brutal past. And even more brutal upbringing. "But just to talk to one, talk to someone like me who will actually be able to get somewhere with you." Vejiita shook his head but she paid no mind. "Just a few visits. Only one if you hate it that much—"   
  
Vejiita stood up and jumped off the stoop. He kicked a rock and said, "Let's just stop pretending that I have a choice. I know you and I know that you won't stop bugging me till I go to your stupid doctor. So, let's just go, okay?" He sank his teeth into the inside of his lip.   
  
Bulma wasn't quite sure if Vejiita was actually right or wrong; she knew that she could be vexingly persistent but she usually knew better than to provoke someone into agreeing just to shut her up. She shook her head slightly. Well, she had gotten him to agree, at least. Whether or not any effects would come out of his visits to a doctor were unclear, to say the least.   
  
"Okay!" he snapped. "Would you get in your car already?" She nodded silently and stood up, fishing her keys out of her pocket. Her sleek, state-of-the-art Capsule Corporation vehicle was locked up tight, of course. It looked even more appeasing to thieves next to Craig's car.   
  
And speaking of which...   
  
Vejiita pivoted and ran back up the stoop and into the trailer, returning a moment later pushing Craig through the door. Although angry that he had been pulled from a deep sleep, Craig wasn't so upset when he saw in what a fine environment he would be traveling.   
  
"Who's car is that?" Vejiita asked quietly as they pulled into the highway. Craig shrugged from the back seat, pulling out a pocket knife and cleaning under his nails. "I know it's not yours. Well?" he continued when Craig nodded in offhandedly.   
  
He flashed him a wicked grin. "I wouldn't worry too much. That car just happens to belong to the sister or Sano Tadashi." Vejiita could only give him a weak laugh and a disbelieving look. He turned around in his seat and put the subject of Sano Tadashi away for some other time.   
  
  
  
Vejiita stared at the opposite wall, anxiously drumming his index and middle finger on the glossy, curved wood of the arm chair. The room smelt fake. Fakeness trying to act real and not even attempting earnestly, further increasing the insincerity of the room.   
  
His gaze shifted down to the worn toes of the shoes he was wearing. Purposely, he had dressed entirely in black today in order to show how negative he was of this entire visitation. But his pessimistic undertones were made for his usual morose behavior and were swept aside, and he was sent to a mental clinic with no additional worry.   
  
He rolled his head back and let it hit the wall. Now he was staring at the ceiling and he decided that he couldn't have been happier. Unconcernedly he wondered if he would last the entire session, which he supposed would be about an hour long. He had been himself the entire morning and most of yesterday too. From past experience, he knew better than to expect good fortune to last very long at all.   
  
When his named was called — a simple Vejiita; no last name, or maybe no first name — he pulled himself out of the chair, stretched and popped a few joints and went through the door. The atmosphere changed subtly; namely, he felt that it was less fake but by no means a better place to be than in the lobby.   
  
  
  
Exactly forty-nine minutes after Vejiita's name was called, a dark green car pulled out of a quiet highway of downtown Western Capital and executed a less-than-perfect parallel-park. A man stepped out, his dark hair swept back and kept in place by sunglasses. His eyes landed almost immediately on another man sitting on a bench on the corner of the sidewalk.   
  
Not bothering to pretend to be surprised seeing him sitting there, Craig sat down next to Vejiita. He slapped the other man's leg, his usual greeting, and said, "How was it?"   
  
Vejiita, of course, had left the psychologist's office as soon as his appointment was over and decided to sit in the sun on a city bench until Bulma or someone came by to pick him up. Like hell, he decided, was he going to walk home. He needed time to gather his thoughts anyway. "I would rather take my eyes out with a spoon than do that all over again."   
  
"That bad?"   
  
"No," he said, "I just don't like talking about myself."   
  
"That's all you did?" Vejiita nodded. "What did you say?"   
  
"As little as possible." He looked up and down the street, waiting for a familiar vehicle to turn around the corner. "I suppose I should have said more but there wasn't a lot of time to really make my point, with the questions he asked."   
  
"He just interviewed you?"   
  
"No. Are you my ride home?" he said after a few minutes.   
  
"Huh? Yeah, I am. Get in the fucking car." Craig stood up and waited for Vejiita to follow him. But he just shook his head and smirked. "No?"   
  
"Of course I'm not getting in a car with you, you moron, never again." Craig shrugged.   
  
"Okay, fine, you caught me. That girl told me to tell you to come home somehow. Like, a bus or walking."   
  
Vejiita stood up and walked away from Craig. Vejiita was disgusted. He was disgusted with himself and what was happening, sick of Craig and his stupidity and how everyone was going to treat him and how everything was falling apart. His life that he hadn't lived was falling apart and it was his fault. He wasn't sure how to take it.   
  
He had walked down the block by this time and now he found himself sitting on another bench. Craig had followed him but gazed at the displays in the window of the building instead of waiting for a bus with Vejiita. He hated to admit it, but Craig was an interesting subject. Saiyajin, sure, why not? But he was like Kakarotto — it was all in his blood. He was so screwed up, somehow, and had been to so many places that race didn't matter to him any more. He was just a crazy guy who was too strong for his own good but didn't have a clue didn't care to get one, either.   
  
Craig could be closed-lipped in an irritating and almost teasing manner. Only after he had roomed with Vejiita for a year was the subject of his survival of Vejiita-sei's destruction was brought up. "I slept through it," he had said.   
  
A long time after that, however, Craig said out of the blue, "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to get all mad." Vejiita had been on the floor with his legs crossed, staring intently at a hundred differently-colored tablets scattered out on a glossy magazine page. Craig's drugs and Vejiita's drugs, all mixed together in what could be a dangerous amalgam. Vejiita only volunteered to sort them out because he didn't want to lose his life by mixing medications like his roommate did sometimes.   
  
"What are you talking about?" Vejiita snapped, glancing up.   
  
"Why I'm here today instead of floating around as space dust. You still curious?" He seemed nervous about something. Vejiita straightened and stretched, pushing the papers and pills away to take a short break.   
  
"Yeah. Yes, I am. What, then?"   
  
Craig started right off blaming his family. His father specifically, then he blamed Vejiita's father and family. "No loyalty. We didn't try to kill anyone, we just pledged jack shit. They weren't okay with that, Vejiita." So Craig and his father and a few other family members were exiled to a certain undisturbed planet far enough away from Vejiitasei to not be in the thoughts of another soldier of the race. Eventually they found a way off, through Freeza's orders of planet purging, no doubt. Craig didn't really know what happened to the rest of his family. He just woke up and no one was around. He never had a strong urge to go find them, he told Vejiita. No one he knew had that urge.   
  
Vejiita hadn't said anything back then but had given Craig the cold shoulder for a few weeks. The funny thing about that confession was that Vejiita had never thought about it before. He was only remembering it now. But... it wasn't a foreign memory, misplaced and belong to another.   
  
It was his memory _now_. 


End file.
